2 O'Clock in the Morning
by WalnutOwl
Summary: When Sherlock interferes with Molly's sleep, things start to become a little tense.
1. Chapter 1

**So, this is my first time posting a Sherlolly fic, so please be nice :) Although I do appreciate constructive criticism so feel free to leave a review. Thank you very much for reading. If I get enough positive reinforcement, the second chapter will be posted in no time :)  
**

* * *

Molly grumbled, resting her cheek against the hand that was propped up by her elbow on the hard metal work surface.

2 am. Bloody 2 am! And he wasn't even here!

Molly had been unceremoniously awoken by her mobile vibrating off her bedside table, crashing to the ground of her bedroom and being batted across the wooden floor by Toby who was hissing at the sound it made. She'd groaned and stretched out of the bed in that way one does when they're determined not to leave the warmth of their covers. Sticking her tongue between her lips in a completely pointless effort to make her arm longer, she finally managed to get the phone into her hand and crawled back into bed. When she clicked the lock button she flinched at the brightness of the screen in her near pitch black room. 1 o'clock. Who was texting her at 1 o'clock? Sliding open the lock screen, Molly held back a heavy sigh.

**Bart's. Now. -SH**

She should have guessed. Shaking her head, she rolled out of bed, her feet flinching at the cool touch of the floor. It wasn't like she could say no to him, was it. Always eager to impress.

The door to the lab crashed open, jerking Molly from the sleep she had just dozed into for mere minutes, and more of the lights were turned on causing her to have to squish her eyes shut to let them adjust.

"Uh… evening Molly." offered John as Sherlock immediately began banging his way through cupboards to get the things he needed.

Opening her eyes again and nodding a little in acknowledgement, Molly didn't smile. She was tired. In fact she was fucking exhausted. Instead, she watched Sherlock's back, his long coat swaying at his legs as he moved about. When he turned towards her, she gasped audibly, her hand quickly covering her mouth.

The left side of Sherlock's face was turning a dark purple over his cheekbone which also had a large scratch across it, and the corner of his opposite lip was bleeding. "Apologies Molly. We got a little… held up." He smirked that Sherlock smirk, his eyes darting to find John's in a knowing glance. John just stood there, grinning in return at the man, his hands clasped behind his back.

Molly forgot all about wanting to yell at him for waking her up in the middle of the night and was instead trying to fight the urge to leap off her stool and comfort him even though he didn't need it. Especially not from her. She settled for wrapping her hands tightly in the sleeves of her thick jumper. "Wh-what happened?"

She could tell John was only barely holding back telling the whole story as he began to shake from silent laughter. He didn't though because Sherlock had shot him a look of daggers, daring him to. "Let's just say I had a rough night and end it there." His deep baritone slightly growling as if he were daring her to pry deeper just so that he'd have the chance to bite her head off for it.

"Er.. okay. What do you need from me then?" She bit her lip hesitantly.

Sherlock looked up from the bag he'd just pulled out of his coat pocket, his brow furrowed and eyes questioning her in confusion. "Need… from you?"

"Yes." When he continued with his lost look she sighed heavily. "Sherlock you woke me up and told me to come here. I was sleeping. I'm supposed to be working the early shift tomorrow… or I guess today."

His face relaxed as he remembered. "Oh. Right. Can you get me some more petri dishes?" He looked back down at the bag, began removing its contents with tweezers and set them on a clean slide, placing the slide under the microscope.

Molly just stared at him, her mouth open slightly, unable to believe that he had called her to the hospital to be his errand girl who fetched him petri dishes. She was trying everything in her power not to let out the tears that were threatening to escape from behind her eyes. She was tired and crabby, and apparently lack of sleep was making her more emotional than she usually was. When she didn't move from her stool, Sherlock's brows furrowed again in thought. A moment later, he glanced up from the slide he was placing and gave her a smile. A smile that could always melt her heart. It was as if he were saying 'Thanks darling.' even though she knew that was silly. Sherlock Holmes never thanked her. For anything. And she found it very unlikely that he would ever use a word like 'darling', especially concerning her. But like always, it did the trick. She slowly slid from her stool with a sigh and headed towards the door.

"Oh and Molly…"

She spun around quickly, hardly believing that he had something else to say. Was he going to say thank you?

Sherlock pulled off his coat and scarf and draped them over the work surface. He straightened up, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets. "A coffee. Two sugars." He flashed his smile again before sliding a stool underneath him and gazing into the microscope.

* * *

Sherlock barely glanced up when a cup was set near his elbow, his attention focused on his slide as he adjusted the zoom and focus to try and get just the right view.

"Is there anything else? Or can I go curl up on an examination table now?"

This made him knit his eyebrows in confusion. "Why would you do that?" It sounded ridiculous. Why would she want to lay down on a table she used to cut up dead bodies?

"Because I'm bloody tired Sherlock and I have the early shift today." It wasn't until he looked up at her that he realized she was right. Molly was downright exhausted. Her eyes were bloodshot from straining to stay open against the harsh fluorescent lights and there were dark circles forming underneath them. Her eyebrows were knitted tight as she stared at him in… what? Frustration? Anger? Molly didn't get angry. At least he'd never had a reason to try to push her far enough to find out what did make her angry. Maybe he'd done something now.

"I don't understand. If you're tired, go to sleep." He returned his gaze onto his work. That's what John did. In fact that's what he was doing right now. They'd been up for three days straight chasing leads around the city. This was their first somewhat quiet moment since the beginning and while John was supposedly reading over his notes on the other side of the lab, he'd rested his head on his arms and gone out like a light. Why didn't Molly do the same? He didn't understand the point of her being tired if she didn't need to be.

Molly's mouth opened and closed in shock at his words. "You… you told me to come here! You woke me up! You pulled me out of bed to hop in a cab and come here! And for what? To fetch you petri dishes and bloody coffee?! That's not a valid reason to pull someone out of bed and have them traipse across town in the middle of the night Sherlock!"

Sherlock lifted his head from the microscope again, this time his eyes slightly widened. She was yelling at him. Molly Hooper was yelling at him, Sherlock Holmes. It was a bit of a shock. It wasn't as if he'd never been yelled at before. He was yelled at every day, even when he didn't leave his flat, compliments of John. But this… this was something new indeed. Molly Hooper had finally snapped. She'd reached her limit with him apparently. When he didn't say anything, Molly spun around, tears spilling from her eyes, and retreated into the mortuary, slamming the door behind her.

Looking behind him, Sherlock couldn't help but be a little impressed with his partner. He hadn't woken up through any of that.

* * *

Molly leaned back against the wall, sliding to the ground. She swiped her thick sleeve over her face, trying to dry at least some of the wetness pouring down her face. She'd done it. She, Molly Hooper had finally cracked. In a moment of sheer frustration, she'd lashed out at him. She didn't usually do things like that. Especially not around Sherlock, who made her into a timid and blubbering idiot when he was near.

She sighed and pushed herself off the ground to go and apologize. Part of her wondered why the hell _she_ was going to apologize to _him_. The other part of her looked back at his wide eyes and imagined there was hurt within them, even though she knew there wasn't. She pushed open the mortuary door, her lips already forming the words. Before she could speak, she closed her mouth. He was gone.

His scarf. His coat. Gone. The only thing he'd left behind was a mess. Well not the only thing. He'd also left behind his blogger, who was still passed out at one of the far tables. Did that mean he'd be back then, if he'd left John? She looked at the clock over the door. Quarter past four. It was pointless to even go home since her shift started at six. She'd only get an hour or so of sleep before she had to come back. Instead, she took a page from John's book and sat down at a table, resting her head on her arms and closing her eyes, intent on at least some sleep.

* * *

Sherlock hopped in a cab as soon as he left New Scotland Yard, his mobile in his hand and his eyes glued to it's screen. He hadn't bothered waking John when he found the evidence he'd needed, knowing that it would only take up precious time. Instead, he'd left the lab and texted Lestrade the findings that told him exactly who to pick up. He'd rode in a cab to the Yard to observe the interrogation just to be sure the man didn't pull a fast one on the detective inspector. As soon as that was finished with, he decided to go back to the hospital to pick up his favourite pair of tweezers. And yes, of course John as well. Although John could get around London on his own. His tweezers couldn't.

It was 8 am when he'd finally made it through traffic and stepped through the door of the lab. Making straight for the table he'd been working at earlier, Sherlock pocketed his tweezers. When he turned, he was a little surprised at the sight in front of him. John was exactly where he'd left him, albeit a little more spread out and the drool stain on his sleeve larger than when he'd left. But that wasn't what surprised him. Molly was sitting in the same sort of position as John, fast asleep at the table right in front of him. Wasn't she supposed to be working? She'd said she had the early shift. The early shift was at 6. It was now 8 and she was… sleeping?

He took a step closer, moving to her side. Her face was slack, relaxed, her mouth slightly open. But she wasn't drooling like John was. Unlike John, Molly was sort of… cute when she slept. Sherlock shook his head. Where had that thought come from? Without realizing it, he saw his hand move forwards to brush a lock of hair off her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. Without her hair in the way, he could see where the tears had streaked down her face earlier and it felt as though somebody had placed a soft blow to his gut. He'd made Molly Hooper cry.

His eyes flicked towards the door as he saw somebody walk past through the small window. Molly would get in trouble if she was caught sleeping instead of working. But how was he supposed to wake her up. When he needed to wake John up, he'd usually throw something at him or else, if he was in a particularly bad or antsy mood, he'd pull out the gun and take aim at the wall. Those options hardly felt suitable when it came to Molly though. Throwing something at her would be… rude? So what then? That's when an idea popped into his head.

Sherlock leaned down, placing his hand on the side of Molly's head and running his thumb across her brow before pressing his lips softly to the skin where his thumb had just left. He spoke softly into her ear. "Molly, it's time to wake up."

She fussed softly, opening her eyes a little at the feel of his lips on her forehead again. Blinking the sleep away, she stared into his eyes as he crouched beside her and smiled a little. It was a few very long seconds before realization hit her. Eyes going wide, Molly quickly sat up and nearly fell off her stool. She would have had Sherlock's arm not slid quickly around her waist to stop her moving back any further. When he was sure she wasn't going to fall, he removed his arm and stood up straight, nodding slightly at her.

Turning away from her, Sherlock walked over to one of the shelves and pulled down a rather thick book. He strode over to the table where John was sleeping, held the book about three feet above the table, and let it drop a few inches from John's head.

"Huh wha…?" John jumped up abruptly, trying to get his brain to work.

"Case is solved John. Time to go home." With that, Sherlock crossed the lab without as much as a glance towards Molly and was out the door, his coat whipping around the corner without waiting for John.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again. So here's the next chapter. I hope it's up to snuff and doesn't disappoint. I apologize for how jumpy it is, I just sometimes find myself going 'wait, wait, wait! I can totally explain this better from Sherlock's POV!'. Anyways, I wanted to thank you all, for the sheer amount of positive feedback was overwhelming. So thank you, and enjoy. :)**

* * *

She found her hand creeping, yet again to that spot on her brow. Closing her eyes, she found she could imagine he was there with her, pressing his perfect lips where she touched. Molly opened her eyes again and tried to shake the thoughts from her head._ Snap out of it._ She'd been doing this same thing off and on all day. She'd reach up to where Sherlock had kissed her forehead, before she even realized what she was doing, and then scolded herself for being so silly.

Sherlock Holmes didn't care about her. He never did and he never would. Sure, she 'counted', but what did that even mean? Molly wasn't sure anymore. But she did know one thing. Sherlock Holmes didn't care.

But then why had he kissed her brow to wake her? He could have just shaken her awake, or dropped a book on the table like he had John. So why did he go with the incredibly gentle and surprisingly sweet approach? Had he been apologizing for the way he had acted last night? Had she been so daft as to miss that? Is that why he left in such a hurry? Was it because she hadn't acknowledged said apology?

Molly Hooper had more questions than she had answers. But she knew one thing for sure. Sherlock Holmes didn't care. Not about her.

So, when Sherlock came into the lab later that day, she couldn't help but gape at him over the paperwork she was doing. He hadn't entered in his usual way. There were no coats whipping into view, no orders barked, no John. Instead, Sherlock had entered somewhat timidly, almost hesitant. He'd turned and closed the door lightly, rather than banging it shut, before facing her. His hands were held firmly behind his back and he looked as though he were struggling to build a sentence.

"…Molly… I wanted to apologize."

* * *

After removing his coat and hanging it on its hook, Sherlock sat in his familiar chair watching as John started to rummage for food.

"I thought you said this foot needed to be binned Sherlock." John called over to him, bent over and inspecting the contents of the fridge.

"I said it _could_ be binned, not that it _needed_ to be."

"Which is your way of saying, John bin the foot. Because god knows you're not going to bloody do it." He sighed as he closed the door of the fridge. "Do you want take-away then?"

"Not hungry." Sherlock folded his fingers in front of him as he stared off in thought, resting his lips lightly against his index fingers.

"Sherlock, you haven't eaten in three days. You need to eat something."

"I don't eat when I'm working."

This caused John to pause in the process of pulling his jacket back on. "I thought you said the case was solved."

"It is."

"So…" He took the time to zip his jacket while he thought about that. "So you've got another one then? Did Lestrade give it to you when you went to the Yard?"

Sherlock didn't answer. Instead, he just sat there and closed his eyes.

_Molly Hooper._

There it was again. That blow to the stomach sort of sensation. Something didn't feel right. He couldn't push the feeling that he'd done something wrong.

He'd woken her up hadn't he? Granted, it had taken a moment for him to decide not to drop a book on her table. He knew she wouldn't appreciate being woken like that and it would only make her even more irritated with him than she already was. So, he'd settled on a different approach, an idea popping into his head. He'd leaned down and kissed her brow, muttering into her ear. It was the way his mother had woken him up on early mornings. A hand running through his curls and her soft voice rising him from sleep. She hadn't done that with Mycroft. He'd asked him once when they were children, but he was more often than not already awake before anyone else in the house had even stirred. It had just been for Sherlock then. Something that was just his. He hadn't thought about that when he'd decided to wake Molly in this way. He'd just thought it would be a lovely way to wake after the completely horrible night she'd had.

And there it was. Yet again the soft pain had settled in his stomach. He was the reason Molly had had a completely horrible night. He wasn't even sure why'd he'd texted her to go to the hospital. It wasn't as if he'd needed her for anything. Was it that he'd brought her there for the sole purpose of having his pathologist there while he worked? It was true that he often worked his visits around her schedule, or rather, hacked into the hospital's computers and changed her schedule to fit his needs better. But did that mean he had grown… attached to having her there with him? Not that they ever really spoke. Most of the time they worked in silence, or he did while she made futile attempts at conversation. But had he really texted her just so that she would be there? For no other reason than being there?

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he dropped his hands to the arms of his chair. As he looked up, he saw the half empty take-away boxes on the kitchen table and heard the shower running. Sherlock stood from his chair, glancing at his watch. He grabbed his coat from the hook and pulled it on as he made his way out of the flat and downstairs where he hailed a cab.

"St. Bart's Hospital."

* * *

"S-sorry?" Molly had heard him fine enough, but she just couldn't believe that those words had come out of his mouth. Sherlock Holmes' mouth.

"An apology. It's what one does when they've wronged somebody. So, Molly Hooper, I would like to apologize. You were right, it was wrong of me to have woken you in the middle of the night like that." He tilted his head down slightly as he finished. There was no fake smile on his face, nor had he come close enough to do something as ridiculous, but still incredibly effective, as brushing an imaginary piece of hair from her face (which he had in fact done twice now, both times wanting her to wheel out a body she'd already done the paper work on). He looked at her with a face that held little outward emotion. Something she liked to call 'working Sherlock'. Did that mean this was a genuine apology? Or was he just buttering her up for a request.

"Um well… yes thank you Sherlock." She bit her lip as she continued to think, her eyes focusing on the harsh bruising on his cheekbone that stood out against his pale skin. That's when a thought crossed her mind. "If you don't mind my asking… did John put you up to this? Or…?" This wasn't usually Sherlock's area, realizing when he'd upset people.

Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion, his eyes narrowing slightly.

* * *

"John?" What did he have to do with this? He'd left him in the shower at the flat, not even telling him he was leaving. They'd barely spoken all day in fact. Oh! Oh of course. That would be what Molly would think. "Actually no. Funnily enough, I managed to figure this one out on my own."

She blushed slightly and smiled up at him. "Well er… you caught me just in time. I was about to clear up and go home."

"Yes I know. I'd have been here a bit earlier but the traffic was dreadful." A small smile crept onto his face.

Molly giggled, her hand quickly flying to her mouth to stop herself, causing her face to turn an even deeper red. His eyes accidentally locked onto hers as she looked up at him again and he found he couldn't tear them away.

"I…hope you didn't get into any trouble today. I don't know if anybody saw you sleeping before I woke you up."

"Oh um… nobody's said anything to me… but I suppose it would serve me right if I do… I shouldn't have been sleeping."

Sherlock shook his head, not taking his eyes off hers. "It's my fault if anybody did notice. You wouldn't have been sleeping if I hadn't dragged you out of bed in the first place."

"I suppose that's true." He hadn't noticed when his feet had started to move, but he know found himself standing a lot closer to Molly. Definitely within arm's reach now. A small smile splayed on her lips and she raised her hand to his cheek. Sherlock hissed as her skin touched his sending a fast burn through his nerves. "I'm sorry!" She squeaked, quickly pulling her hand back at the hiss.

"No, no. It's fine. It just.. well it hurts quite a bit actually."

"Has John looked at it?" She slowly raised her hand again, this time carefully placing it against the battered skin, causing Sherlock's eyes to blink for a longer time than usual.

"No. I've been working. He hasn't had the chance." It was true. The space between now and the moment it had happened, John had either been sleeping or Sherlock had been busy. John knew better than to disturb him when he was thinking, otherwise he ran the risk of being sulked at for a week in punishment.

"Do you mind if I take a look then?" She looked away from his cheek and back into his eyes and he swore he could feel the warmth emanating from them.

For some strange reason, his voice came out a little bit heavier than normal. "Not at all. You _are_ a doctor after all."

* * *

Molly finished placing the butterfly closure over the cut on his cheek. "So… are you going to tell me what happened? I mean you don't have to or anything, I was just wondering…" She turned away from him and busied herself with cleaning up the first aid kit as she started to ramble, her cheeks burning.

Sherlock's voice came from behind her on the stool he was sitting. "There's not much to tell. The man we were chasing took me by surprise. He was also wearing a rather large ring on his middle finger which obviously added to the abrasion. Although I'd guess that John's retelling of the events would be a great deal more comical, considering he was barely able to contain himself both in the moment and when it was mentioned earlier."

She turned back to him and nodded a bit. "Right." He was sitting with one leg bent for his foot to rest on the ring around the stool and was leaning back against the lab table with his elbows, his shirt pulling tight across his chest. How could those damn buttons keep from popping off? It was a mystery even the greatest of scientists would be unable to find an answer to. "Well nothing's broken and it shouldn't scar."

"Yes I know." He looked bored now. He'd been surprisingly still while she cleaned and patched up his cut. Knowing how Sherlock could be, she half expected him to be like a little kid who couldn't sit still. But he hadn't been. He'd sat very still in fact, with his eyes curiously watching her face as she worked. He was still watching her. Her every movement. Except now he seemed a lot more casual about it with the way he was almost laying back on the table. She turned away from him again and set to tidying the papers she'd been working on when he had come in.

"So I think I'm just going to pack up and go home… like I said before." She disappeared into the morgue office to deposit the files and to take a break from his ever seeing gaze. Taking a deep breath to brace herself for his scrutiny yet again, she turned back to the open door and nearly screamed. Sherlock was standing at the door, leaning against one side of the door frame with his hands tucked into his trouser pockets. "Um…hello."

Sherlock tilted his head a bit and his brow furrowed in the cute way it did when he didn't understand something. "…hello."

"Did you um… need something from in here?" She glanced around the office trying to see if there was anything he would want that would bring him here.

"No."

Now it was her turn to be confused. What on earth was he doing in the office if he didn't need anything? She bit her lip and awkwardly slid her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. Sherlock must have read her awkwardness and pushed his body off of the door frame. "Listen… Molly. I have this sort of… hunch… that if John were here, he'd tell me to thank you. So… thank you. You didn't have to patch me up, especially after what I put you through last night." He looked awkward himself now, his hands still in his trouser pockets.

"Oh no, you don't need to thank me." Her hand had come out of her pocket to quickly wave off his thanks. Why was she waving it off? Sherlock never thanked her. For anything. Why was she so ready to dismiss it when he did? Her wave was little help in her head, but it was less help in itself since it ended up knocking a cup full of pens to the floor.

If she wasn't blushing before, she definitely was as she quickly got to the floor to collect the pens before they rolled underneath cupboards. She stretched out her arm to grab a particularly evasive pen, but was a second too late, her fingers brushing against somebody else's hand. Looking up, she found herself staring into Sherlock's eyes, not for the first time that day. He'd actually got down on the floor to help her clean up the mess. Did Sherlock clean? She doubted it. Her hand jerked slightly as she felt him touch it, her eyes ripping themselves away from his eyes to see what was happening. Sherlock had taken her hand and turned it so that the palm was facing up before gently pressing the pen into it and curling her fingers over the implement.

She felt like an idiot, just sitting there staring at the pen in her hand. She felt like she would have sat there for hours if something hadn't directed her attention elsewhere. That something was once again Sherlock's hand. However, this time, it was sliding across her cheek to cup the side of her face and brought her eyes back to his. "I said… Thank you." He gave her a look that basically said 'If you'd let me thank you, we wouldn't be on the ground right now.' and made her face burn even hotter. She gave him a small nod, not trusting herself with words. Sherlock's face warmed up a bit, but his hand was still cupping the side of her face and -oh god, was his thumb moving across her cheek?

For a long time after, Molly wasn't ever sure if what happened next had actually happened or if it had been an extremely realistic dream. Sherlock leaned towards her, a somewhat determined look on his face, and softly pressed his lips against hers. It wasn't just a light peck, nor was it a passionate kiss. Sherlock's lips moved her own gently but surely before he pulled away and stood up, leaving the office in a flash. When Molly heard the door of the lab click shut a short time after, she collapsed to a sitting position on the floor, her fingers brushing against her lips and her mouth slightly open.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again. I just want to once again thank you all for your kind words. This chapter is a wee bit short and for that I apologize. If I get the chance I may come back to it and beef it up a bit. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Sherlock strode down the hallway and banged through the doors to the lab, John trailing behind him. Removing his coat, he began pulling things out of cupboards and setting up a work station for himself.

"John, go through the pictures again and see if anything jumps out at you." He doubted anything would considering they'd both been over them a dozen times, but it gave him a way to keep John quiet without being so rude as to tell him to shut up and sit in the corner. John knew this as well and just sighed as he grabbed the legal envelope from the table and moved to a different table.

Navigating the folds of his coat, Sherlock pulled the jar he'd nicked off Anderson out of one of its pockets and placed it on the table next to the microscope. Once his worktop was the way he liked it, he set about obtaining the chemicals he needed. He was in a fantastic mood. He was on the hunt and he finally had a clue he could work with. Anderson had scoffed when Sherlock said he could tell where somebody had last been from the hair gel residue that had been left on the bannister. How that man had even gotten a job as a forensic scientist was a mystery. Sherlock was in such a fantastic mood that when the bottle in the cupboard was empty upon his arrival, he just made a half irritated sound before going into the morgue to get a new one from the cabinet.

Molly was standing over a fresh body, pulling on her latex gloves while reading over the notes that came with it. "Ah Molly! I see you've gotten the body." He turned his back to her as he rummaged through the cabinet but didn't miss the jump his sudden appearance had cause and he couldn't help but smirk to himself. Turning around again, bottles in hand, he gave her what he liked to call his 'Molly smile'. "Let me know if anything unusual pops up." Mrs. Hudson always commented on how indecent it was for him to get so excited during a case, but that didn't stop him from popping the 'p' in 'up' and raising his eyebrows at her before returning to the lab.

* * *

They'd been there for hours. Sherlock sat staring intently into that bloody microscope and hadn't made a sound in at least an hour and a half. John swore he'd gone over the pictures a hundred times and, as suspected, nothing new turned up.

His adrenaline was starting to fade, so John took to slowly pacing the lab. If he stayed sitting at the table, he'd fall asleep. He was about to suggest that he go grab some coffee for the two of them, or maybe dash off for a quick pint for himself, when Molly came in from the morgue.

_Thank god, a distraction._ "Hello."

Molly smiled at him but he knew she was tired. She'd been there as long as they had if not longer and she'd had to be on her feet the whole time. "Hi John." She looked over at Sherlock and raised an eyebrow.

John shook his head. "Nothing yet, that I know of. You?"

"Well, he was pretty much the same as the other two, as one would suspect with a serial killer…"

At this, Sherlock's head whipped away from the microscope. "But?"

"But… this one had a sort of waxy substance on his wrists where there were also bruising patterns that suggest he was held onto very tightly." She passed her folder over to Sherlock who quickly flipped through it before standing and disappearing into the morgue to look over the body himself.

Molly looked back at him, after Sherlock had disappeared, shuffling her feet a little. "Long day then Molly?"

She sighed a little and nodded. "Yeah, I'm actually a few hours overtime right now. The body came in two hours before my shift ended."

"That's really unfortunate."

Before Molly could respond, Sherlock came back into the lab positively beaming. It looked as if he was ready to do a pirouette in joy. "Oh ho ho this is brilliant!"

"Uh…sorry? Care to share?" John crossed his arms over his chest. As much as he loved seeing his friend this happy, and as odd as it was for him to get this happy over murder, it was extremely frustrating when Sherlock didn't share his findings with the rest of the class.

"We have ourselves a serial killer John!" He was on his phone now, looking up who knew what.

"I thought we already knew that."

"Yes, but with the minuscule change of his MO one would think he'd made a mistake. But not a man like this, he doesn't make mistakes. So your mind automatically goes to copycat. The police found a body very similar to the first two a couple of days ago but it was all wrong. I saw it in the papers. Even Lestrade knew it wasn't connected. But this one, this one is so much more accurate. Everything is exactly the same except for two changes. Finger pattern bruising on the wrists rather than ropes and this waxy substance. The same substance we found on the bannister in his flat." He rose his eyebrows, grinning and gave me that 'we both know what's going on here look' that John so despised.

"Right…so…" Molly was the one to take the bullet and John gave her an appreciative glance as she started clearing the table that John had been sitting at.

Sherlock glanced up from his phone and looked confused at the two vacant expressions before him. "So he did it on purpose obviously. A man who is so precise that when he carves script into his victims' chests he starts and ends in the exact size and position as the other bodies even taking their slight size differences into account? No this man wouldn't slip up like this. He wants to get caught. As most serial killers do. He's almost disparate for it." His gaze was back on his phone which he was becoming ever frustrated with. Slamming it down on the lab table, Sherlock stood and began pacing.

"What's wrong?" John knew he only got like this when he wasn't getting anywhere and it often helped when he talked things out.

Sherlock pointed at the microscope. "The wax. It's hair gel. Well when you walk around town, a multitude of substances fall in your hair that you're not aware of. The most prominent? Pollen. However the pollen that I've isolated is far too generic by itself. It's found in too many places. I need more to go on. Something to cross reference it with."

"Sherlock…" Molly's voice came from behind John and he turned to find her looking at the photographs he'd long ago given up on. "Does he always leave a rose?"

John turned back to Sherlock who had his brows furrowed as he worked something out in his mind. Suddenly, his eyes widened as he clapped his hands together. "Of course! Molly that's ingenious! You are amazing." He quickly passed John and went up to her, grasping either side of her face and planting a big kiss on her lips. Turning almost laughing, he retrieved his coat and strode out of the lab leaving Molly staring after him with her mouth slightly open.

Molly wasn't the only one who was shocked at this display. John had only ever seen Sherlock do that to Mrs. Hudson but only on the cheek. He didn't think he'd ever seen Sherlock kiss anyone on the lips, even if it was out of celebration. Or whatever the hell that was.

Molly looked at John, shock still written on her face, and he just gave her a bit of an apologetic shrug before following after the madman himself.

* * *

**I won't make a habit of end notes don't worry. I just wanted to let you know that the next chapter may not be posted next Sunday, it may be a bit late. I'm having a bit of a plot identity crisis at the moment and don't want to post what comes next if I may end up wanting to change it once I figure things out. So I apologise if you have to wait longer than usual for the next installment. xxx**


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay, so I guess I may have lied when I said this was going to be late, but I managed to somewhat figure things out and realized that this was in fact where it needed to be. So I hope you guys enjoy it and don't be afraid to shoot me a review. I like seeing them, even if they're short. Have fun!**

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Molly Hooper was a mess.

At least she was on the inside.

Molly squeezed the warm cup between her hands, her eyes closed as she enjoyed a quiet moment in the canteen. She took a deep, calming, breath before opening her eyes and staring into the creamy tea between her fingers.

_Sherlock._

If Molly had thought she couldn't possibly waste any more time thinking about that incredibly infuriating man than she already did, she was wrong. She thought about him now more than ever. She had quickly become aware that the most horrible part of her job wasn't the dead bodies. It wasn't the fumes, nor the liquids, nor the grieving families that came to claim their loved ones. No, the most horrible part of Molly's job was the time it gave her to think. As she worked through the motions, her mind would wander, and it always seemed to wander towards the same thing. A pen.

The past two weeks had been increasingly frustrating and confusing in equal measures. Sherlock had kissed her. He had kissed her while they were crouched on the floor of the office. She was sure of it. Or was she? Maybe it had been a dream after all._ No of course it happened Molly. Snap out of it._ He had definitely kissed her then. She remembered it perfectly. The taste of his perfectly curved lips, the caress of those lips as they had molded Molly's to fit them. Focus Molly.

Right, it had definitely happened. And then Molly didn't see him for a week and a half. Not a word, or rather text. Then, three days ago, Sherlock had bounded into the morgue like it was Christmas morning and Molly couldn't help but feel a twinge in her gut knowing that it wasn't because of her. No, there had been a rather horrific murder as usual and Sherlock was high on the excitement of it all.

_Let me know if anything unusual pops up._

She had had a long enough day as it was, but of course a body had to show up two hours before her shift ended. And of course, that body belonged, for all intents and purposes, to one Sherlock Holmes. The man who had kissed her and then bolted off, leaving her in shock. And on top of all that, he was in a fantastic mood where she was ready to throw something at his head for popping the stupid 'p' in 'up'. Mind you, her spirits did climb a bit when she had indeed discovered something unusual. They had climbed even more when she had managed to bring a sort of clarity to Sherlock in one question. It had made her feel extremely clever and she couldn't help but wonder if John occasionally felt the same way when he managed to point something out that Sherlock had missed. But this is where things got even more confusing.

Molly had finally convinced herself that the kiss in the office hadn't meant anything. It had just been a way for him to thank her. If it had meant something, he'd have called or even texted. Right? So when Sherlock had grasped either side of her face and placed a big, exciting kiss on her lips, Molly could have sworn that her brain broke. She stood frozen to the spot, watching as Sherlock disappeared around the door and John followed after with a bit of a shrug.

Sherlock didn't just kiss people. Did he? She'd never seen him do it. He didn't seem the type to kiss someone out of celebration. Was that what it was? Was he celebrating finally solving the case? It just didn't make any sense to her. Of course Sherlock rarely made sense to her, but now she was even more baffled.

"I do believe that this particular beverage is meant to be consumed whilst hot, or at least warm. If you just continue to sit and stare at it like that, it's going to go cold."

Molly jumped a little as the familiar baritone broke her out of her thoughts. "Sherlock!"

"Molly." She could hear the smirk before she saw it as he moved from her side to sit in the chair across from her, placing his leather gloves on the table and lifting one leg over the other as he leaned back. He stole the cup from her hands and raised it to his lips. Making a bit of a face, he placed the cup back on the table and slid it towards her while muttering, "Too much cream."

"Wh-what are you doing here Sherlock?" She couldn't help but be slightly amused at him stealing her tea.

"I was bored. John's off on a date and hid my gun, and Mrs. Hudson moved my skull while cleaning and now I can't find it." He pouted a little and Molly found herself smiling. "I thought I'd come and check in on the specimen I left in the fridge."

"Oh well you could have gone right to the lab. I'm just on my coffee right now."

"Yes I could have, except that you have the key to the fridge." Sherlock smiled at Molly, his eyebrows lifting slightly as if he dared her to say otherwise. "You can finish your coffee. I can wait." With that, he pulled his phone from his coat pocket and stared at it intently.

Molly could have chosen to cut her coffee short and go up to the lab for him, by why would she when she could sit there and sneak covert glances at the man who sat across from her. Sherlock knew that she kept looking at him and Molly knew he knew. But that didn't stop her. She was going to let her coffee go until the very last minute.

* * *

It wasn't as if Sherlock had really needed to get Molly to open the fridge for him. He could have easily picked the lock. But as he hung up his coat and leaned back against a lab table with his arms crossed over his chest, he watched her unlock the latch. He found he hadn't minded waiting for her to finish her coffee break.

They had sat in comfortable silence while Molly slowly sipped at her tea and he had browsed the internet on his phone for anything mildly interesting. He saw her sneak glances at him and secretly enjoyed every time he flicked his eyes up and managed to catch her at it, watching as her face turned pink and she quickly averted her eyes.

"There you go then." Molly had straightened up and placed the lock on the table. "Your specimen await you. I'll be next door if you need anything else." As Sherlock pushed himself from the table and made his way to the fridge, they ended up passing each other in a rather tight spot between table and side counter, causing their shoulders and hips to brush. He noted how this seemed to make Molly go quite red and quickly pulled away for her sake

He watched as she scurried away from him. "Um…" She turned as he spoke, her hand on the door handle to the morgue. "…thank you Molly." He nodded curtly at her before turning to the fridge to find his case of specimen.

It was a few minutes before he heard the door to the morgue click shut and he still hadn't found his case. The new lab tech, Samuels, worked at an almost Anderson level and Sherlock was quickly beginning to lose patience with his moving things around. Finally spotting his horde behind a stack of empty test tube holders, he extracted the case and went to place it next to the microscope before going to retrieve the rest of his supplies. Sitting down at the table, he pulled his notebook from his jacket pocket before removing it and flipping on the light of the microscope, placing his first slide.

Why had it taken Molly so long to leave? She had her hand on the door when he turned around, yet it had been a few minutes before she'd actually gone into the morgue and he hadn't heard her walking around the lab. Had he done or said something? Why was he so worried that he had done something wrong?

Sherlock shook his head slightly and tried to focus on the work at hand. He wrote down a few notes in his moleskin before losing himself in thoughts again as he stared through the lens.

"Coffee. Black two sugars." Sherlock looked up from his slide to find Molly placing a cup at his elbow. Glancing at his wristwatch, he had to take a second look. He'd been working for four hours. Looking at his notebook, he realized that he'd only examined three slides. That was the horrible thing about being him sometimes. Even the smallest of things could distract him if they were mildly interesting enough, and apparently his thoughts on a certain pathologist had been mildly interesting compared to the slides.

"Oh, thank you Molly." He raised the cup to his lips a took a sip of the hot liquid. She was definitely getting better at brewing coffee. His eyes looked her up and down. "Autopsy then?"

"Oh, yes, just finished. Fifty-two year old, heart attack. Very straightforward. My shift actually ends in a bit so I won't be getting another body… if you need me to do anything for you."

"Um… no I'm alright." He scrunched his eyebrows a little as she cast her eyes down in slight disappointment. So she obviously was hoping for something to do that wasn't the stack of paperwork under her arm.

"Okay, I'll just sit over here then." She sat down at the opposite end of the table and opened one of the folders. Sherlock watched her for a bit before turning back to his microscope, determined to stay focused this time.

A few short minutes later, Molly spoke again. "So… you solved the case then?"

"Which one?" He inquired with an arched eyebrow, not looking up from the lens.

"The one a few days ago. The serial killer. With the pollen."

"Oh." He look up to write in his book. "Yes" Turning back to the microscope, his hand expertly changed the zoom.

"Right." Molly fell silent again, the scratch of her pen the only thing that penetrated the silence.

He felt something in his stomach, a sort of hum, before remembering something. "How did you know?"

"S-sorry?"

"How did you know that the rose was what was needed to cross reference for the pollen location? Once I had that figured out it took me mere seconds to realize where he would be holed up."

"Hyde Park right? My dad used to take me there to see the rose garden. It just sort of popped into my head when I saw the picture and then I realized that the pollen matched the location as well. Where did you find him?"

"The Lanesborough Hotel. He had to walk through the park everyday and he got his roses from the garden." Maybe he had underestimated Molly.

She was surprisingly clever. Of course she was mildly clever since she did have a doctorate, but now he realized she wasn't only clever in one area. She wasn't like John, who wasn't particularly book smart but could hold his own when things got exciting, she was the opposite. Molly was quite clever. Molly helped him with chemical analysis when he found himself wishing he had more hands. Molly did his autopsies and chemical reports. Molly kickstarted his brain when it had gotten stuck over hours of staring at pollen.

"So Lestrade got him easily enough then?"

"Yes. Sargent Donovan tackled him to the ground when he tried to run." For some reason this made Molly smile. Perhaps she was trying to picture the scene. He couldn't be certain. "I um… I suppose I should thank you… for your help." He nodded at her, not knowing what else to say. He felt as if he'd been thanking her a lot lately.

"Oh you don't need to thank me. I'm positive you would have figured it out without me just the same."

"Obviously." He turned his attention back to his slide, only remotely registering the slightly hurt look on Molly's face. However the slide wasn't interesting enough to distract him from thinking about that look further. Why had she looked hurt? Oh of course. Stupid, stupid. She felt like he was dismissing her intelligence. He should say something to show her that wasn't the case. Raising his eyes from the microscope, he allowed himself to watch her for a bit. She head was bent over her papers as she quickly scrawled in the boxes laid out upon the sheets. She brought her hand up to push some of her hair behind her ear before rubbing under her nose a little. Right. Hurt.

"Molly…" Her head snapped up as if surprised he had spoken, her cheeks already turning a darker shade of pink. He gave her a pointed look. "Thank you."

* * *

Molly closed her mouth and nodded at him. She saw Sherlock's lips curve into a slight smile before turning back to his microscope, a smile that she knew was genuine.

This man who sat in front of her was the most frustrating person on the planet. He was the epitome of all things confusion. Molly just didn't know what to think any more. He had kissed her. Twice in fact. Once in front of John even, who had looked just surprised as she had. So what on earth did that mean? He was still as indifferent to her as always, with maybe a little bit of the usual rudeness taken off but that could just mean he was getting used to her or that his time with John was doing him well.

So what did him kissing her in the office mean? She passed off the one during the case as a show of excitement and a bit of praise, but the office… that had definitely been a proper kiss. She could still feel his lips pressed against hers.

Shaking her head, Molly checked her watch. Quitting time. Closing her folders of paper work and moving them into a neat stack, she stood up and made her way back to the office to file them. When she emerged again, pulling off her lab coat, Sherlock was standing and careful placing his slides back in their case. "Oh, are you leaving?" She'd been worried that he'd want to stay all night and the last time she'd let him stay over night by himself he'd ended up exploding three light bulbs and nearly burning through one of the tables with acid. (It's best not to ask.)

"Yes. I figured I should probably go home. See if any cases have turned up." He replied as he went back to the fridge, placing his case at the back and locking it up.

Molly bit her lip as she hung up her lab coat and took down her jacket. He had said John had a date. That meant he'd be going home to an empty flat. She had never seen Sherlock turn down an opportunity to look at his specimen all night unless something more important had turned up. But he'd just said he was going to see if anything had turned up, so there was no rush for him to do it. So why was he so keen to leave? Was it because of her? Did he actually care that the last time he'd been left alone, she'd nearly been sacked for leaving him. In fact she would have been sacked had there not been that last minute intervention by some women by the name of Anthea who had asked to talk to the head alone. When the women had left, Molly still had a job. No questions asked. So was that what this was? Him not wanting to get her into trouble again?

She watched Sherlock's lean back as he carefully put away the microscope. He pulled on his jacket, fastened his scarf, and stowed his notebook in an inside pocket. That was it. Molly was finished with asking questions. She wanted answers now and she was going to get them. She walked purposefully toward him. When she was close enough, she tossed her jacket onto the table, eliciting a raised eyebrow from him.

With a sense of determination, Molly Hooper grasped onto the lapels of Sherlock's jacket, stood on her tip toes, and pressed her lips against his. It was time for her to receive her answers.

~~~

What does one do when they are aggressively kissed out of nowhere in a darkened laboratory?

Sherlock's brain had stopped working the moment Molly's lips were against his. He would have been lying if he said he hadn't been thinking about how this day was going to end. The last two times he had been here, both had ended with a kiss. And now, it seemed, so was the third.

Once he was over the initial shock, Sherlock's hands wrapped around Molly to rest against her back, carefully pulling her closer. He felt her hands slide up his chest to the back of his neck, her fingers knotting themselves into his dark curls. Their lips clashed against each other in the most passionate kiss they had shared yet. Turning them around, Sherlock gently pressed her against the table to balance them as Molly continued to pull him closer, gently scratching at his neck.

Who would have known that he would enjoy kissing Molly this much. Timid Molly who usually shrank away in his presence. She had taken control for the first time since he'd met her and it was refreshing.

"Oh good you haven't left ye-"

Molly quickly pulled her face away from him, causing his lips to crash against her jaw. Standing in the doorway was one of the techs from the lab opposite, wide eyed and mouth hanging open. Leslie. Or Lorelei. Or was it Lindsey?

"S-sorry. It can wait until tomorrow." She quickly backed in the hall and turned back the way she'd come.

Sherlock released his grip enough to let Molly straighten herself up and off the table's edge, a small smirk on his lips. He expected Molly to resume where they had left off but instead was left unpleasantly surprised. Grabbing her jacket from the table, Molly dashed out of the lab and down the hall, leaving Sherlock to stand there watching the door close with a soft click.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello, hello. So here you all go. I hope this isn't nearly as awful as my brain is telling me it is and I hope it doesn't disappoint. Enjoy and keep the reviews coming! :)**

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She sat on the floor with her back against her sofa, running her hand lazily through Toby's fur who lay in her lap. She brought the glass to her lips yet again, only to find that it was empty. Sighing, she reached for the bottle a few feet way from her only to find, with great disappointment, that it too was empty.

Molly Hooper had sat on the train in a haze, pressed her key into her deadbolt, grabbed a bottle of wine and a glass from her kitchen, and collapsed on the floor of her flat. Toby had slunk out of her bedroom and curled up on her lap, fast asleep, as Molly started to try to drink away her feelings.

What had she been thinking? Attacking him like that? But he hadn't pulled away in disgust, right? In fact, he had kissed her back, pressed her up against a table.

Molly's head lolled back to rest on the cushion behind her, her eyes staring up at the yellowed ceiling that had been stained by the previous owners. Her mind was abuzz, but with the alcohol that ran through her system and with more questions than she had had before. It was time to run over the facts.

Sherlock Holmes had kissed her. He had looked her in the eyes, raised a hand to her face, and kissed her softly yet lingeringly.

Sherlock Holmes had kissed her again. This time it was quick. His hands had gone to either side of her face and he planted a swift yet effective smooch.

She had kissed Sherlock Holmes. Purely out of frustration. Frustration of not having enough answers. Well… that and the fact that she always wanted to kiss him.

Sherlock Holmes had returned her kiss. He had reciprocated, and with vigour. Who know's what else would have happened if they hadn't been interrupted.

She had run away. As soon as he hand let go of her to allow her to regain some composure, she had been grabbing her jacket and tearing through the door.

Stupid. Stupid Molly. How was she ever going to get answers if she ran away at the most opportune moments to ask her questions?

Molly's eyes were starting to droop, the wine making it more and more difficult for her to keep them open the longer it sat in her system. The empty glass in her hand began to tip out of her grasp before falling , a few drops of wine landing on the carpet. Her breathing was slowing, as was the hand that was moving through the pile of fur on her lap. She let her eyes fall closed and drifted off.

There was a loud knock at the door, causing Molly to immediately wake up from her mere seconds of sleep. Toby had sprung out of her lap, his claws digging into her thigh, and ran to his usual hiding place under her bed. Molly rolled to her knees, balancing herself against the sofa before lifting herself to her feet. Who the hell was calling at this time?

There was another knock, this one slightly quieter, more tentative. Molly unlocked the deadbeat, leaving the chain in place as she cautiously opened the door. Her jaw dropped as she peeked through the gap she had created.

* * *

When the lab door clicked shut, Sherlock leaned back against the table. The same table he had just been snogging Molly Hooper against. Molly Hooper. His pathologist. He ran his hand over his forehead, begging for his mind to just shut up for once. Everything was coming in at once, everything he hadn't had time to notice in the moment. The feel of her hot breath against his, how she had gently pulled at the hair on the nape of his neck, the curve of her back as his hands held her. His senses were threatening a mutiny. He felt like he was over heating. For the briefest moment, his mind had been calm. He had thought only in the moment and now, as he looked back on it, it was all starting to catch up with him.

Why had she run off? Had she been embarrassed? He could see how that was possible. Getting caught in a compromising position at ones place of work could be quite embarrassing, he supposed. Perhaps he should apologize to her. Wait! Why should _he_ apologize to _her_? She had been the one to start it. She had practically assaulted him with her lips. Yet something at the back of his mind told him it would be the gentlemanly thing to do. Was that John's doing? Or was it something left over from his upbringing. He had been raised well, and taught to do well by women. He liked to think of himself as a gentleman. With a frustrated groan, he stalked out of the lab and hailed a cab on the street.

He paced back and forth in the hallway, a soft creak coming from the floorboards each time he passed the door. Her door. He had finally moved into the building after spending ages pacing on the street. After he caught a few suspicious glances, Sherlock managed to coax the sweet old lady who lived across from Molly to buzz him in. Now he had resumed his pacing. After one more pass, he stopped in front of the door. Raising his hand, he knocked, wincing slightly at how loud it sounded in the quiet hall. He could hear some slight shuffling around inside but she wasn't moving nearly fast enough for his liking. Raising his hand again, he knocked once more, gentler this time. He could hear her on the other side of the door now, slowing unbolting it before it opened, jerking a little when it was caught up by the chain.

Sherlock's stomach lurched a little when she appeared. Molly Hooper.

"Molly I wanted to apolo-" He was looking at her properly now. Her cheeks were violently flushed and she was holding herself up with a hand resting against the door frame. Looking past her, he spotted the bottle laying on its side in front of the sofa and the empty glass beside it. "I… Molly you're drunk." Before he could examine further, Molly had closed the door heavily in his face.

His brow furrowed, deeply confused and quite a bit hurt, Sherlock turned from her door, making his way back to the stairs.

"Sherlock!" He spun around again to find Molly standing half in and half out of her flat. "Where are you going?"

Of course. She'd just been unfastening the chain. _Idiot_.

Turning back, he walked into her flat as she stepped aside to let him in and closed the door behind them. His eyes scanned the flat, distracting him for a little. It was nothing special. Small. A living area to the right, a kitchen to the left and a hall down the middle that lead to what was undoubtedly her bedroom. In fact, the door on the right was her bedroom, the door on the left was a spare room that she used as storage and the one at the end of the hall was the lavatory. The walls were painted a rather boring beige colour, meaning Molly wasn't allowed to paint with the terms of her renting. Knowing her, it would have been some godawful shade of pink if she could have her way.

The sound of Molly refastening the door chain, broke Sherlock out of his examination. Looking back at her, he began examining her more closely. Now that she wasn't leaning against the door frame, there was a slight sway in her stance, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Molly, you're drunk." He repeated, eliciting a scrunch of her nose. There was another empty bottle sitting on the kitchen table. Two bottles in less than two hours? Sherlock jumped a little when he felt something tough his ankle, or rather brush up against it. There was a cat, circling between his legs and rubbing itself against him. Sherlock couldn't help but sneer a little. He wasn't all too fond of cats.

This reaction from him brought Molly into giggles as she watched her beast shed its hair all over his trousers. "He likes you. Toby meet Sherlock. Sherlock, Toby."

Sherlock muttered sardonically. "Charmed."

Stooping down, Molly scooped Toby up and placed him on the sofa and away from Sherlock's trousers. He watched her carefully as she staggered into the kitchen, using furniture to steady herself. "Would you like some tea? Coffee?"

Coffee. Coffee would be good. Sober her up. And things would go a lot smoother if he laid on the charm. Plastering his Molly smile onto his face, he fooled her into the kitchen. "Coffee sounds delightful. Let me." Placing his hands carefully on her shoulders, he steered her to the kitchen table and sat her down before going about making the coffee.

"Oh no Sherlock, you don't have to. You're my guest." She was slurring her words, particularly heavy on his name.

Glancing over his shoulder and saw that she had her head resting on her arms on the table. "Molly?" Her only response was a slight shift of her head as she tried to get more comfortable. Abandoning the attempt at coffee, Sherlock moved to her side and gently shook her shoulder. She slowly sat up with an incomprehensible sound, her eyes closed.

Right then. He unbuttoned his jacket, removed his scarf, and hung them both on a hook by the door before returning to the kitchen. Bending down, Sherlock scooped Molly up into his arms, one arm under her legs and the other cradling her torso against his own body. He carried her down the hall and pushed the door of her bedroom open further with his foot. Setting her down carefully on the bed, he took a step back and examined her. After a bit of thought, he removed her cardigan, draping it over her footboard, and lifted her legs enough to pull the sheet out from under her to cover her.

As he draped the sheet over her, Molly rolled over so that she was facing him. Her eyes were open now, but only just, and she smiled up at him. Reaching out, she took Sherlock's hand and pulled him towards her. "Stay? Please?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to refuse but found that he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not when she was so vulnerable. Toeing off his shoes, he climbed onto the bed beside her, sitting up against the headboard and crossing his legs at the ankle. Molly curled up next him, her arm wrapped around his waist and head resting against him. She was fast asleep in mere seconds, leaving Sherlock feeling awkward. What was he supposed to do now? Biting his lip, he hesitantly placed a hand against her head, his fingers brushing through her hair.

Toby jumped onto the bed on the other side of Molly. Sherlock and Toby stared at each other for a while before Sherlock broke the silence, his voice low. "I suppose you and I are in this together." Toby took a few steps forward, rubbing his face against Sherlock's hand, before curling up beside them. With a slight smile twitching at his lips, Sherlock leaned his head back against the headboard and stared up at the ceiling.

* * *

Molly groaned as she rolled over. Opening her eyes had been a big mistake. The morning sun was breaking through the gap in the curtains and had very nearly blinded her. What the hell had happened last night? She sat up slowly, taking deep breaths as she went. How had she gotten to bed?

Her eyes shot open the second she realized. _Sherlock._

Molly got out of bed and raced to the door, regretting it immediately when her stomach lurched violently. Gripping hold of the door frame hard, she managed to get her nausea under control without the need to empty her stomach. She didn't know what she was expecting to find when she opened the door. but it definitely was not the sight that was in front of her.

"What do you think? More pepper?"

Sherlock was standing in front of the stove, his shirt sleeves rolled up passed his elbows and his hands on his hips. Molly was about to ask what he was talking about when she realized he wasn't speaking to her. Toby was sitting on the worktop beside the stove and let out a small mew at the question. Sherlock chuckled quietly and scratched him between the ears.

Highly confused and, let's face it, shocked by the scene in front of her, Molly glanced at the pan on the stove and instantly wished she hadn't. She groaned, fighting back another wave of nausea. Sherlock was cooking eggs. She hunched over a little bit, covering her mouth with her hand.

* * *

Sherlock had to restrain himself from lunging forward to help Molly. Instead, he switched off the element on the stove, scooped Toby into his arms and placed him on the ground, and went in search of some paracetamol and a glass of water.

He had spent the night wide awake, his hand absently stroking Molly's hair as she slept. When the sun began to peek through the curtains, Sherlock had climbed out of the bed, being extremely careful not to wake her, and decided to make her breakfast.

At the sound of the refrigerator opening, Toby had jumped from the bed and followed him into the kitchen. Sherlock had tried to shush the cat as he began meowing loudly and insistently. He quickly closed the bedroom door before returning to the kitchen and, you would think by the sounds of it, starving cat. Finding a half empty tin of food in the fridge, Sherlock spooned the rest into a bowl and placed it on the ground, immediately replacing the meowing with the sounds of content eating. Sherlock had been surprised at how good of company Toby had been when he jumped onto the worktop while he was cooking, that is when he wasn't making an infernal racket. It was like having his skull there in Molly's flat, with the small difference of the occasional meow or vacant blink.

"I believe this is the correct prescription for one suffering through a hangover." Sherlock set the painkillers and glass of water in front of Molly, who had managed to shuffle into a chair at the table.

"Can you speak more… shhhh." Molly groaned at him, swallowing down her medicine.

Sherlock lowered his voice. "Apologies." Toby walked across the kitchen and hopped into Molly's lap. So that was something the two of them had in common, they both had the need to take care of Molly.

* * *

What was he still doing there? Molly had never thought that the sight of Sherlock cooking eggs would ever find it's way into her kitchen. Had she been so bad that even Sherlock Holmes had felt the need to look after her? Maybe he had only stayed to make sure she didn't choke on her own vomit and was now cooking breakfast for himself.

Molly decided that thinking while her head was in this state was not a good idea. She didn't want to think anymore, she just wanted answers.

"You stayed." She cringed a little. _Yes, marvellous deductive skills Molly._

"Obviously." Sherlock's expression only proceeded in confusing her more. He looked a little bit bemused but she caught something else, something that only lasted for a second.

"Why?"

* * *

She was looking up at him, her head cradled in the crook of her arm which was stretched out across the table. Why had he stayed? Because he wasn't somebody who could just dump a drunk women into her bed and then leave?

"Because you needed my help." He bit his lip a little, hoping that she would leave her interrogation there, but she didn't.

"You could have left after you carried me to bed." Her face went red as she remembered that.

"Yes, I could have."

"So, why didn't you?"

There it was, the question he'd hoped she wouldn't ask. He dropped his gaze to his feet, feeling the warmth spread across his cheeks.

"Because Molly... you asked me to stay."

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**Alright so I know I promised not to make a habit of post notes and I stand by that. I just wanted to let you know that you most likely wont be getting an update next sunday. I've been super busy and my work is hectic right now that whenever I do get free time, I just want to sleep. So you may have to wait a wee bit for an update and for that, I sincerely apologize. I love you guys and I'll see you at the next update ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey there, so I felt bad about not posting yesterday so here you do. It's short because it's a transition chapter. This is the last chapter that I had sitting ready to be posted, so you're now officially waiting for me to write more. I hope, even considering the size, that this chapter doesn't disappoint. Enjoy and keep the reviews coming :) **

* * *

John tried to be as quiet as he could as he walked up the stairs to the flat. What was he thinking? Sherlock would know he was back. He was Sherlock.

He gave up with his pointless sneaking at the landing and continued the rest of the way up the stairs normally. When he pushed open the door to the flat, he was greeted with a familiar sight. Sherlock was sat in his usual chair, quietly plucking at the violin resting upright against his chest, and staring at the opposite wall. He didn't even look up as John went into the kitchen.

"Are you hungry?" John wasn't sure why he had even asked him this question. Sherlock would just do what he always did. He would either say no, or not reply at all.

Just as he suspected, Sherlock remained silent, his eyes moving to scan over John in his familiar way. "She has a cat." he mused, continuing to pluck at the strings in a seemingly random fashion.

"Sorry?… oh uh, it's her neighbour's actually. It comes over through the window sometimes."

This seemed to frustrate Sherlock more than it usually would as he plucked rather on one string and made a face. "It's always something."

"Wait… weren't you wearing those clothes yesterday?" This fact hadn't registered with John at first, but now that he thought about it, he found it odd.

John had been out all night, spending it at his newest girlfriend's place. He had expected to come home to a Sherlock sulking around the flat in his pyjamas like he usually was when in the flat for more than a few hours without John or any other type of stimulant (John was sick of Mrs Hudson complaining about the holes in the wall and had hid his gun from Sherlock). Instead, he was sitting there in the clothes he had worn the day before. Did that mean that John wasn't the only one who had been out all night?

Ignoring John's question, Sherlock stood up, set his violin down where he had been sitting a moment before, and retreated into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He emerged again a few minutes later, buttoning the jacket on his fresh suit. He grabbed the coat off its hook and looped the scarf around his neck.

"Where are you going?"

"To see if Lestrade has anything new for me to look at. You can come if you so wish." With that, Sherlock strode through the door, not even bothering to hear John's reply or wait for him to follow.

With a heavy sigh, John zipped up his jacket again and followed after his brilliant and incredibly infuriating flatmate.

* * *

Sherlock sat in the back of the cab, staring out the window as the city passed by.

How could he have been so obvious? They didn't even get the chance to talk. That was the the whole point in him going over there in the first place.

Because Molly, you asked me to.

Before she could even respond, he had grabbed his coat and was out the door. She was the one who had run away in the first place. She was the one who he had found drunk afterwards. She obviously had regretted it. And yet he had stayed with her all night. He had cooked her breakfast. He had fed her stupid cat. No, wait, Toby wasn't stupid. That was just misplaced frustration.

Sherlock had never been good at this sort of thing. It wasn't his area. Murders. Murders were his area. Perhaps that was the solution. Perhaps he should treat Molly like a murder. How would one go about doing that though?

He tapped his finger impatiently against the door of the cab as he thought, causing John to give him an interested look. Ignoring him, he continued to try and work through his most recent case. The case of Molly Hooper.

"You alright? You seem a bit off today. And when I say off, I mean more off than usual."

Sherlock looked over at his best friend, looking him up and down. "What's her name then?"

"Wha… sorry?"

"This one's quite a bit more serious than the past ones. You keep checking your phone because you left in a bit of a rush this morning, hoping to get home before I noticed you were out all night. Really John, a pointless endeavour. Judging from your clothes, which are of course the same ones from last night, you took her to a theatre performance. Nothing professional though, or you'd have dressed much nicer. That suggests children. Why would you go to a rubbish children's play for a date if you'd didn't have to. Obviously she knew one of the children. In fact she knew more than one of the children. She's a primary teacher. A number of her students were in the play and had invited her to come watch. Like I said, serious. She wouldn't take just any bloke to go and see a play with her students in it. It would make her look like some sort of hussy. No, she's just as serious as you are in this relationship. Honestly John, I've known about her for months. Your attempts to make it seem as though you were going out with different women were extremely flawed." He pulled out his phone looking bored and stared at the screen.

John stared at him, his mouth hanging open. "I… I'm seriously resisting the urge to punch you right now." He crossed his arms over his chest and looked out his window, muttering. "If you're so bloody smart you can figure out her name yourself."

Sherlock smirked. He already knew her name.

The cab pulled to a stop and Sherlock climbed out, leaving John to take care of the cabbie. He strode down the hall that lead to Lestrade's office.

"Hey there, freak."

"Sargent Donovan, a pleasure as always."

Sally had just emerged from Lestrade's office, pulling out her phone and dialling a number as she pushed past Sherlock. Lestrade came out moments after.

"Ah Sherlock. I was just about to call you. I think I've got something you're going to want a look at."


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello lovelies. So you're very lucky because i found some time to write this week amidst my busy work schedule. So I hope you enjoy what I have to offer you in this chapter. Have fun! And feel free to drop a line ;) xxx**

* * *

Molly strode down the street, her chin tucked into the collar of her jacket to escape the crisp air. A large tote bag hung heavily off her arm as she stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets. What was she doing? Now that she was above ground and walking again, her mind started to boot up once more.

She was walking to Sherlock Holmes' flat. The same Sherlock Holmes who had bolted out of her own flat only that morning after spending the night to look after her drunk self. She had gone to work hungover that morning and spent the day standing like she always did. Right as she was putting her jacket on to go home, her phone had gone off.

**221B. I need a body. -SH**

_He needs a body? A body? He won't talk to me properly. He continues to be a mystery. And yet, he needs a body from me._ Molly had sighed. How was she supposed to get a whole cadaver all the way to his flat. It wasn't going to happen.

Yet Molly still found herself walking from the tube station to 221B Baker Street, heavy tote bag in arm. She stopped outside the flat and rang the bell. After five minutes, she rang it again.

"Oh hello Molly dear!" A smiling Mrs. Hudson appeared at the door. "Here to see Sherlock I expect. He doesn't like to answer the door. He's being very quiet though. He usually shouts when the bell goes off."

After fifteen minutes of polite small chat with Mrs. Hudson, she told Molly to just pop on upstairs. "Oh the boys won't mind. I don't even think John's in right now." So she did as she was told and climbed the stairs to the flat.

_Thunk._

The moment Molly had opened the door, something went whizzing inches past her head and sunk deep into the door frame. Her eyes were wide as she slowly turned her head to examine it. A piece of wood that was about three inches long was sticking out of the wood, a sharp metal point imbedded in the door frame. She turned back to the flat, watching as Sherlock removed himself from his perch in the corner. He had climbed on top of a pile of books and onto the bookshelf. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she was able to rid herself of the shock of nearly being impaled.

"Ah, Molly. Good, you're here."

"SHERLOCK! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME!?"

* * *

"Did you bring my body?" Sherlock set the long wooden tube, that had fired the projectile, down on his desk. He had spent the morning at the crime scene, trying to absorb everything he could from it.

There had been a dead man, late twenties, wiry build, sun bleached hair, laying on the floor of his flat.

"Looks like there's been a struggle." Anderson remarked as he pulled on his gloves, gesturing to the mess.

_Idiot._ "Don't be ridiculous. A man is his late twenties? This particular man in his late twenties? His flat is always this much of a tip."

As usual, Anderson had just grumbled and wandered off to collect evidence as far away from Sherlock as he could. Squatting down, Sherlock took a closer look at the body. No visible signs of violence. Except for one. Sherlock pushed the man's head to the side so that he could get a closer look at the back of his neck. At the base there was a small dot of dried blood. He looked up at John and raised his eyebrow.

"Looks like an injection… needle of some sort?"

"How? This man has been in his flat all day. This wound, when compared to the time of death, would have had to have been made within hours of his death. But nobody has been in or out of this flat before his sister found him."

"How, could you possibly know that?" Sherlock just raised an eyebrow at him again. "RIght… because you're Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock stood up and turned to Lestade. "Cause of death is some sort of poisoned projectile. Pin prick injection site at the base of his neck. If you need me, I'll be on the roof." And with that he had made for the stairs with a twirl of his coat.

"No I didn't bring your bloody body! I wasn't going to carry a corpse on the tube Sherlock!" She was glaring at him as he walked up to her. Reaching beside her head, he pried the sharpened stick from the wall.

"Molly I _need_ a body. It's for an experiment."

"Like I said, I'm not carrying a corpse on the tube. So I went to the butchers and got you a pig. You owe me two hundred quid." She pushed the heavy bag she was carrying into his arms. Sherlock couldn't help but smile. Molly Hooper had bought him a pig. She could have just read his text asking for a body and dismissed it, but instead, she had gone to a butchers to get him a replacement body.

He cleared his throat and nodded at her once. "Right… thank you Molly." He turned around with the bag in his arms and went into the kitchen to deposit the pig when his phone went off. Dropping the bag on the kitchen table with a crash as some of his beaker broke, he dug his phone out of his pocket. "Idiots. I told them they should have sent the body to you. But no, some rubbish about jurisdiction and it was sent somewhere else. Incompetence." He pulled on his jacket and looked up at Molly as he tied his scarf. "Lestrade's having a blood sample sent to Bart's for me to look at." As he rushed out the door, he paused before bolting down the stairs. Molly had turned to watch him disappear like he always did in her presence. He turned around with his hands in his pockets. "I could use your help Doctor Hooper."

* * *

Molly had hoped she would get to have a normal day at work and then go home and lay on the sofa for the rest of the evening. Instead, she had visited a butcher's shop, bought a pig, took said pig to a mad man, was almost decapitated, and now sat awkwardly in a London cab with aforementioned mad man. So no, it hadn't been a normal day. She kept taking quick glances at Sherlock sitting beside her. He either sat staring out the window, or staring at the phone in his hands, not saying a word.

"So… where's John then?"

Sherlock slowly looked at her, a little surprised that she had broken the silence. "I don't know."

_Yes you do_. Sherlock always knew where everyone was, especially those in his immediate circle. When Molly continued to look at him, she saw him smirk a little. "He said he didn't fancy being impaled and that he was going to get some air. Which in John language means that he's annoyed with me and going to see his girlfriend."

"Oh… John has a girlfriend?"

"Yes, she's a primary school teacher. That's all I know. I've never met her."

_That's all I know._ Well that was doubtful. Why was Sherlock refusing to talk about it? Normally he'd jump at the chance to show off how he had deduced John's girlfriend without even meeting her, unless… _oh_. Could it be possible that Sherlock had realized that she wasn't his to talk about? Could he actually be thinking about John wanting to tell other people about his girlfriend and not have his best friend just spouting out facts about her.

"Well good for him."

Sherlock looked at her with his brow slightly furrowed like he didn't understand what she was saying that for. Then something dawned on him and his face relaxed. "Yes."

"So… um… where are we going?"

"Bart's." He turned his attention back to his phone, obviously bored with this line of inquiry.

"Okay, but why?"

"To examine a blood sample."

"Who's blood sample?"

"A deadman. Jeremy Luther."

"Why?"

"Because he was murdered."

Molly sighed, growing frustrated with him. "The case Sherlock! What's the case?"

He looked back up at her, blinking his eyes, once, twice. "A man was found dead in his flat. No visible cause of death, except for a tiny pin prick in the base of his neck. He was injected by some sort of toxin that had killed him within hours, but he hadn't been out of his flat all day nor had anybody been in. So how? I checked the roof and found trace footprints. Somebody had been up there and the small window there had been jimmied open. He was shot with some sort of toxic projectile that had to have dissolved because there were no traces of it anywhere. So we're going to Bart's to examine his blood because the idiots he was sent to couldn't find anything unusual."

"Right… thank you." She lowered her voice so that she was speaking more to herself. "That wasn't so hard now was it." She smiled when she saw him crook his head out of the corner of her eye, his brow slightly furrowed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello there :) I apologize in advance for how short this is. I've been really busy this past week and every moment I've found to write, I find myself staring at the white screen of my laptop. So I hope the content makes up for the shortness and that the next instalment will be much longer. Thank you very much for reading and don't be afraid to leave a review. I don't bite ;)**

* * *

"I've told you, they're all idiots." Sherlock pressed the end call button and placed his phone onto the work top next to him.

"Who was that?" Molly had just come back into the lab as he hung up.

"Lestrade. The coroner is saying Luther died of a heart attack. He said all the signs were there and that the injection site at the base of his neck just wasn't conclusive enough to warrant it being foul play. Said it could have been a bug bite or something that was equally sickeningly mundane." He slammed his hands on the work top in frustration before running them through his hair. He had been here for hours, staring at the same blood samples over and over. It was obvious. It had to be. What was he missing?

"…Molly… where do you usually take blood from when you begin your post mortem?"

"Well… I mean everybody does things differently but I always take from the jugular."

There was something spinning around in his mind. Something that he just couldn't displace. _Salt._

"Molly, I know how he was injected." He stared at his microscope for a few minutes before leaping to his feet and doing a little spin. "Oh this is brilliant. Ingenious!

* * *

Sherlock was furiously fiddling with slides, on his feet now, a complete whirlwind.

"Sherlock, slow down and explain." Molly stood on the opposite side of the table, wanting nothing more than to watch him but also afraid to get in his way.

He just continued his work, only looking up at her occasionally as he spoke. "Salt, Molly. The killer used salt. The coroner would have taken the blood sample from the jugular, just like you do. It's the most common method. I noticed something earlier but didn't think anything of it until I realized that. The blood sample had a slightly unusually high level of salt. The killer had to have used an extremely small capsule to hold the substance used.."

Before he could even finish, it had all donned on Molly. "Of course! Salt! It would have dissolved in the bloodstream!" She was at awe with the man in front of her. As always, he hadn't failed to impress her.

* * *

He stopped working and looked up at Molly, almost in shock. She had cut him off mid-answer. She never did that. And on top of that, the answer had been correct.

He shook his head slightly trying to get his brain working again, his train of thought disturbed by the woman standing in front of him."Um… yes, that's exactly right." He watched as Molly's cheeks flushed bright red and she looked away. Tearing his eyes away from her, he went back to his microscope and placed a hand on his hip as he leaned against the work top. "However, I've yet to figure out what the mystery substance is." He slammed his hand on the table before running the other through his hair.

"Sherlock… are these the coroners reports?"

He glanced at Molly to see that she was looking at the stack of papers at the end of the work top before waving dismissively. "Yeah. There's nothing there."

"I'm not so sure about that. I had a body come in a few months ago that looked very similar. It looks like a heart attack except I went into the autopsy already knowing what had happened." Sherlock turned to face her when she looked up from the papers. "It was an epinephrin overdose."

Epinephrine. It fit all the categories. How had he not thought of that? Not only that, but it gave him a suspect. "The brother-in-law is deathly allergic to bees. Molly you are a genius!" Without thinking, he closed the space that was between them, cupping her face and pressing his lips against hers. He felt Molly's hands move up his arms to his chest. He felt her melt against him. For the second time in two days, everything was Molly. She flooded his consciousness, and then he felt her tense up. She pushed him away as hard as he could, sending him back into the work top.

"Would you stop doing that! Stop bloody kissing me Sherlock! You're driving me crazy! I just… I don't know what to think anymore! Just leave! You have your case, just go and solve it for god's sake!" She turned away from him, her face in her hand. Sherlock stood there in complete shock. His brain had stopped. Everything was blank. He just stared at her, opening and closing his mouth for a few minuted before everything crawled back to him. What had he done wrong? He thought Molly had enjoyed kissing him. What had he done wrong?

"Ah. I thought I'd find you here." John pushed open the door of the lab and Molly disappeared into the morgue, Sherlock's eyes following her. "Why's there' a pig on the kitchen table?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello you lovely people. So right off the bat here, I'm going to apologize for not updating sooner. I'm just trying to make sure I know where I'm going to go with this. I hope you ****_do _****enjoy this update. I'll warn you that I didn't really read it over with a fine tooth comb so I'm sorry for any grammatical, spelling and punctuation errors that turn up and thank you for dealing with them. I also want to thank everybody who's ever sent a review for this story. It's your kind words that make me want to keep writing and also make me feel horrible for not updating every hour so that you're not hanging in suspense. Sadly, that's not quite possible. So anyways, thank you for your follows, thank you for your favourites, thank you for your reviews, thank you for your patience, and, most of all, thank you so much for reading. It means the world to me and don't be afraid to drop me a line. I don't bite...much ;)**

* * *

"Are you alright?" John looked over at his friend beside him. Something was wrong and he knew it.

They had left Bart's, Sherlock not saying a word, and gone straight to Scotland Yard. "I thought you would have been more excited about this one. I mean you were pretty happy when I left the flat. Thought you would have been ecstatic when you found out how they did it. Pretty ingenious. Right up your alley."

John just sighed when his questioning hit a brick wall. Sherlock didn't even acknowledge that he was being spoken to. "Right. Fine. Don't tell me what happened."

Great. Now he was in a bad mood as well. John shook his head, willing the cab to drive faster so that he could disappear into his bedroom and leave Sherlock to his sulking.

* * *

Why did Molly react so forcefully? Didn't she enjoy kissing him? She _had_ initiated one of them after all. But then she ran away. He still didn't know why she had run away. Had she regretted it? Did she think he was an awful kisser?

Sherlock through the projectile at the wall yet again. The same projectile that he had nearly killed Molly with earlier that same day. That was just her overreacting though. he knew exactly what he was doing. He would never have hurt her.

"Oh, we're back to this are we? Should I go back up to my room or were you planning to use my head for target practice?" John stood in the doorway of the flat, his arms crossed over his chest and a peeved look on his face.

"I wasn't planning on it, but if you would like me to then who am I to deny you." Sherlock continued scowling at the wall for a little while longer before throwing himself onto the sofa, wrapping his dressing gown tightly around himself.

"Okay what the hell is wrong? I've never seen you like this right after a case. You normally live on a high from it for, at the very least, a couple of hours." Sherlock just turned deeper into the sofa. He heard John move into the kitchen.

"Are we keeping the pig Sherlock? Because if we are then you need to make room in the freezer." Sherlock raised a hand and waved John off in response. "I don't bloody know what that means Sherlock. Are we keeping the pig or not?"

"Do whatever you want with it. I don't care John." Those last three words, that were muffled by the sofa cushions, sent a heavy feeling to the pit of his stomach. Should he keep the pig? He didn't need it for what he had planned anymore. So then why should he keep it? Just because Molly had given it to him? What was that? Politeness? Or sentiment?

Before he could figure out, John's voice from the kitchen interrupted his thoughts. "You never told me why you even have this damn thing."

Sherlock sighed heavily and rolled so that he was on his back and staring at the ceiling. "Molly brought it."

"Molly brought you a pig? A _whole_ pig?"

"Yes."

"Why the hell did Molly bring you a pig?"

"I asked her to bring me a body for an experiment and she brought me a pig. Apparently I now owe her two hundred quid."

"Bloody match made in heaven the two of you." John mumbled to himself. "Alright, what can I chuck from the freezer to make room then? I'm not chucking a pig that cost two hundred pounds."

With another heavy sigh, Sherlock waved his hand again. "I don't need the bag of kidneys nor the left forearm."

* * *

Molly sat in the morgue office doing a mountain of paperwork. It was that time of the month when everything that had been put off and pushed aside was catching up with her. She signed yet another piece of paper, not really paying attention to what she was doing anymore, her mind wandering elsewhere. She hadn't seen Sherlock in just over a week. Not hide nor hair since she had told him off for kissing her, something her heart was deeply regretting but her head was trying to remind her that she had been in the right.

She looked up at the sound of a soft knock at the door.

"Hello Molly."

"John! Hi!… Is… is Sherlock with you? Does he need help with something? Petri dishes?"

John chuckled a little, sliding his hands into his jacket pockets. "No, no. I left him at home. Hopefully he doesn't set anything on fire… or worse. He hasn't had any cases in the past week or so, so I thought I'd stop by here. See if I could maybe get him a nice body part to cheer him up?"

"Oh." So Sherlock wasn't there. Molly didn't realize she had gotten her hopes up about seeing him until John had squashed them. _He hasn't been in because he hasn't had a case. That's all. You know how he can be when he doesn't have a case._

But was that the only reason he hadn't been in? Had she hurt him by pushing him away. Had she lost him?

_No, that was ridiculous. He just didn't have a case. He had no reason to come to the lab if he didn't have a case. _

"I think I have a leg in the freezer that you could take. We were using it for the students because it had gangrene, but we don't need it any more. I'm sure that could keep him entertained for a while, or until a case turns up."

"Oh, cheers Molly." He smiled his thanks at her before looking at the ground, seeming to be working through her words and deciding whether or not to say something. "That's the odd thing though. I mean… cases _have_ been turning up. Quite a few interesting ones too, but… he refuses to leave the flat. He used to have a policy where he wouldn't leave for anything less than a seven but now… it seems like he's just turning everything down. Says they're dull." John breathed a heavy breath before shrugging. "Who knows what's going on in that head of his. Hopefully this leg you have will put him in a better mood."

"Right… the leg." Molly pushed herself to her feet and went to retrieve said foot, her head a jumble of a million thoughts at once. _Turning down cases? That wasn't like Sherlock. Or was it?_ She didn't really know what he was like outside of the hospital, but it seemed like he was either always on a case or running some sort of experiment. Maybe she was wrong? Maybe this was like him. Maybe he just had those weeks where he wanted to relax at home and not be running around the city chasing some sort of lead. But then why would John have mentioned it? He wouldn't have said anything if he wasn't at least a little bit worried about his friend. Did that mean that Sherlock was put out about her telling him off? Or was she just being a bit arrogant, thinking that it would have bothered him that much.

Molly spent the rest of her shift, long after John had left with his hopeful mood lifter, thinking about his roommate. She spent the train ride home thinking about him. She spent her late dinner thinking about him. She spent her time in front of the telly thinking about him while she absently stroked Toby's fur. And she spent the time it took her to finally fall asleep thinking about him. Sherlock Holmes was getting to her and he didn't even have to leave his flat to do it. He was in her head and she couldn't escape him as easily as she thought she might be able to.

As she drifted off to sleep, Molly had a thought. _It might be high time I visit him myself and find out what the hell is going on with him. It's time for some answers_


	10. Chapter 10

**Good tidings to you lot. Wow look at that, 10 chapters. Thank you all so much for putting up with me and reading my story that started off as just a little one shot. I once again want to apologize for any spelling/grammatical errors. I'm really horrible for not proof reading very well. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think. Drop me a review. Don't be shy. Keep on keeping on. xxx**

* * *

"Sherlock! Are you going to get that?"

Sherlock rolled onto his stomach on the sofa and covered his head with a pillow.

The door bell buzzed again and he heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. "Bloody hell Sherlock, would you answer the door for once instead of just laying there?" With a disgruntled noise, John continued down the stairs to get the door.

Sherlock stop paying attention once he heard the muffled voices coming from downstairs, focusing instead on listing every element in the periodic table, along with their atomic mass and ionic charge. There was no other word for what this was. Sherlock was bored. This was the tenth time he had ran through them that day. His breathing was slow and he appeared almost comatose.

_Bored!_

"He's on the sofa. I'll be upstairs." John's voice came from the door of the flat before he retreated back into his bedroom. There was a new presence where his had been. _Petite. Timid footsteps_. He suspected who it was before she even spoke.

"Sherlock?"

"Hello Molly." Sherlock's voice was muffled by the pillow and the sofa cushions but he didn't move them away from his face.

"I um… I brought some of the things you had in the fridge. Or rather… I rescued them. Anthony was cleaning it out and was going to throw them away, so I snuck them out for you…"

Sherlock pushed himself off the sofa and stood up. "Thank you." He spoke stiffly and took the box that Molly was holding, taking it into the kitchen. He set the box on the table and decided to make a show of examining each one of his possessions. _Samuels. How dare he throw these out. He'd only been there for a month and it was technically Molly's fridge._

He looked up when he heard the door of the flat click shut. Had Molly left? No. She appeared at the door to the kitchen looking edgy, as if there was something she wanted to say.

* * *

Molly nervously worked the loose string on the sleeve of her jumper. "Sherlock… I… I wanted to apologize for what happened when you were last at Bart's."

Sherlock furrowed his brow in what looked like confusion. "What happened?"

Molly's heart sank slightly. Did he really not remember? No, he had to. "I… look Sherlock, I'm sorry I yelled at you after you… after you kissed me." She lowered her voice, not wanting anybody else to overhear their conversation for both of their sakes.

"Oh, that. It's fine." He didn't sound cold or upset. In fact, he spoke as if she were apologizing for accidentally bumping his cup of tea onto the floor.

"Oh."

Sherlock continued looking through the box and started to meticulously put the items in the already full fridge. It seemed as though John had pulled out all the stops to try and bring up Sherlock's mood. He probably had enough body parts in that fridge to build a whole other person.

"So um… I hear you haven't had a case in a while."

Sherlock hardly looked up from his task at hand to respond. "You are correct. I know John told you. It was obvious that John received the leg from you and knowing him, he'd have appealed to your wanting to help me, in order to have to deal with little fuss when asking to take a body part home."

"Right… did you like it? The leg I mean."

"It was adequate. It served it's purpose."

Molly didn't know what to say. How was she supposed to start the conversation she both so desperately wanted to have and never have ever at the same time?_ Hey Sherlock, so I was just wondering if you'd like to explain why you've kissed me on multiple occasions._ God, that made her sound like an idiot. So instead, they stood there in silence, Sherlock with his back turned to her.

"Molly, why did you run away?"

Molly wasn't sure if she had heard him, or if she had just imagined the quiet voice that came from the fridge.

"Sorry?"

* * *

Sherlock wasn't sure what made him say it. It was obvious that Molly wanted to talk but didn't know what to say, and Sherlock, who loved silence but absolutely hated awkward silences, needed to break the silence.

"I said, why did you run away?" He turned away from the fridge and looked earnestly at her. "In the lab, when you kissed me. You ran away. I was going to ask why when I went to your flat that night but you were a bit… incapacitated. So I'll ask now. Why did you run away? You initiated it."

Molly blushed and lowered her eyes to the floor, obviously flustered by the fact that he had been able to start the conversation she had wanted to have. "I don't really know. I guess I was just… embarrassed about being caught."

"…embarrassed." Why had she been embarrassed? Was he embarrassing? Or was he just being horribly conceited right now. _Because you're the clever detective in a funny hat?_ The Woman's words echoed in his head. But Molly didn't think anything like Irene… did she?

"Well, how would you feel if I started snogging you at a crime scene?"

"I don't think I'd mind actually."

"R-really?" Molly's face went an even deeper red. "But it's a crime scene. You can't snog at a crime scene!"

"Why not? I don't think the body's going to care all that much." Why were there so many rules about what he could and could not do at crime scenes?

"It's just… well it's not very professional is it? And that's my point. Kissing me at work… "

"Need I remind you that you initiated said kiss."

"Fine! Getting caught kissing me at work is not very professional. It doesn't look good on me."

"…fine. I won't kiss you at work anymore then." Sherlock turned back to the fridge. He couldn't help but feel like it wasn't that _it_ didn't look good on her, but that she felt _he_ didn't look good on her.

* * *

"Right… thank you." Molly could feel her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. The way in which he spoke gave her an inkling that he wouldn't be kissing her anywhere anymore.

_Good job Molly._

She took a deep breath and decided to just go ahead and ask what she had been meaning to ask him in the first place. She couldn't do more damage than she had already done… right?

"Why did you kiss me? That day on the floor in the office. Why?"

Sherlock didn't speak for a while, his back still towards her. "Because I wanted to."

"…why?" Her voice was soft, her tone magnifying her low self esteem.

"Why do I need a reason for wanting to kiss you?"

"Because you don't just wake up and decide you want to kiss somebody. There has to be a reason. Why have you kissed me again, then?"

Sherlock turned around to face her again, his lips about to form words.

"Oh, you are still here. I wasn't sure." John appeared behind her and Sherlock's mouth snapped shut. "Do you two want to go out for dinner?"

Sherlock looked back and forth between the two of them. "No." He kicked the door of the fridge closed. "But I'm sure Molly would like to." With that, he scooped a pile of books off the table and retreated into his bedroom, the door closing with a sharp thud.

Molly turned to John, who had a curious expression on his face, and smiled. "Where are we going then?


	11. Chapter 11

**Hellooooo. So before we begin here, I just want to apologize for the long wait between updates. I was super busy with work and then once things slowed down, I had to send my laptop in to get fixed so... yeah. Sorry. Anyways, like always I want to thank everyone who's read, favourited, followed and reviewed my story. It makes me so happy and you guys are what keeps me interested in continuing to write this. I love you all. xx**

* * *

"Ready?"

Molly nodded.

"Alright. We'll have the mushu pork, beef chow mien, lemon chicken and vegetables in black bean." John closed the menu and handed it back to the waitress. "And we'll both have another glass of wine."

"Thanks for this John." Molly smiled at him once the waitress left.

"Hell, I should be thanking you Molly. It's such a relief to have an actual conversation with someone."

"What about your girlfriend?" Molly immediately blushed, remembering that she wasn't supposed to know about her. "Sorry, Sherlock mentioned it."

John just chuckled. " 'Course he did. He was probably complaining about it. No, Mary's visiting her parents in the country for the week."

"Oh, that's nice."

"For her yeah. In the meantime, I'm here dealing with a sulking Sherlock and I have no idea what's wrong."

"Oh." Molly looked down at her lap. It was her fault Sherlock was sulking. Well it wasn't her _fault._ She had been in the right. But she was still the cause for an unbearable Sherlock. "I might be partially to blame for that." She spoke quietly, having no way of knowing how much John knew about whatever the hell was going on between her and Sherlock.

"You? What are you to be blamed for?"

"I… I sort of told him off for doing something."

"Really? I tell him off for loads of things and he doesn't go sulking for a week about it. It probably wasn't because of that Molly. Don't worry." John took a sip of wine, looking thoughtful for a moment. "What did he do that finally warranted a telling off from Molly Hooper?"

"He… kissed me." He sentence was nearly lost in the mouthful of wine she took immediately after.

John nearly choked on his own glass and had to put his hand over his mouth so that nothing came out of his nose. "He… he what?!"

* * *

The door slammed shut. "You absolute clot!" Joh threw his jacket onto its hook and crossed his arms, glaring at the curled up body on the sofa.

A muffled and sardonic voice emerged from the cushions. "Oh? And what have I done now?"

"Sherlock! This isn't funny! You _kissed_ Molly Hooper?"

He hummed incoherently into the pillow.

"Sherlock!"

"And what if I had? What business is it of yours?"

John just stared at him for a moment, his mouth open. "Do you not understand what you've done to this poor girl Sherlock? She's been infatuated with you since before I even met you. You can't just kiss her."

"Why not?"

"Because you're just pulling her along like you always are. You're using her to get what you want! But kissing her? Kissing her is worse than the well timed compliments and smiles Sherlock!"

Sherlock rolled off the couch at that, standing up and standing in front of John. He glared down at him. "And who says I'm just using her?" He pushed past John, sending him slightly off balanced with a well placed push with his shoulder. John couldn't even turn around to watch his flatmate disappear before he heard the door of Sherlock's bedroom slam shut.

* * *

**What did you tell John?**  
**SH**

_Sorry?_

**John is under the belief that I am harming you. Is that how you feel Molly?**  
**SH**

**Molly?**  
**SH**

(Receiving call…)

**"Hello?"**

_"Hi…"_

**"Why did you call me?"**

_"Because Sherlock, I can't really get my words across right over text."_

**"Then what are these words?"**

_"You wanted to know what I told John…. and well… I told him pretty much everything."_

**"And you couldn't have just typed 'pretty much everything'?"**

_"Would you stop being such a smart arse for one second. I'm trying to talk to you here."_

**"I… apologies. Please continue."**

_"…thank you. As I was saying… no Sherlock, I don't think you're harming me."_

**"Then why does John think I am?"**

_"Probably because he knows how much you take advantage of me. He probably thinks that what's happened is just an extenuation of that."_

**"… but it's not."**

_"… then what is it Sherlock?"_

**"…"**

_"Sherlock?"_

(…Call Ended.)


	12. Chapter 12

**So.. special treat for you guys today... you get two chapters! Yaaaaaay! It's mainly because I feel bad for keeping you waiting for so long but also because the other one is quite short. So enjooooooyyyyy! 3 **(I apologize because this chapter hasn't really been edited. please bare with me)

* * *

John pushed open the door with a grumble when it almost hit him in the face. He took it as a sign that Sherlock was excited to get back into the lab and didn't have time to hold it open for him. John was just relieved. He had finally managed to find a case that Sherlock was mildly interested in. Something that required use of the lab. Although it wasn't strictly necessary on this case, John chose to tag along in order to keep an eye on him. He didn't want him trying anything else with Molly. It was unfair how he was playing with her feelings.

Molly came out of the office at the sound of the door closing, her face going red the moment she saw Sherlock. "Oh… Hi!"

"Hi Molly." John nodded at her, his usual polite self. Sherlock, on the other hand, completely ignored her, sitting down in his usual spot.

"How are you?" He moved over to her so that they weren't yelling to each other across the lab, leaving Sherlock with his microscope.

"Oh, I'm fine. I just finished an autopsy so I was just sitting and doing some paperwork. How about you? How's Mary?"

"I'm good. Mary's good. She's home. You should have dinner with us sometime."

Molly nodded as her mobile went off. "Yeah. I'd like that." She pulled her phone out of her pocket to look at the display. "Sorry, I should get this. Hello?" She disappeared into her office but it wasn't long before she was bursting back out, nearly in hysterics and trying to rip her lab coat off with the phone still attached to her ear.

"Molly?! Molly, what's wrong?" John tried to slow her down before she hurt herself.

"There… there's been a fire in my building." Molly was on the verge of tears.

"Jesus. Okay Molly, just calm down. How bad is it?"

"I don't know." She shook her head and he could tell she was close to breaking out in sobs.

"Right. We'll go with you and, if it's bad, you're welcome to stay with us. Right Sher…" John had turned around to make sure Sherlock was okay with Molly staying with them, but there was just one problem… Sherlock was gone. His microscope was utterly abandoned. Exasperated with his flatmate, John turned back to Molly. "Come on. I'll get us a cab."

* * *

"No no no! Turn left up here! There's far too much traffic on Farringdon at this time of day!"

* * *

"Thanks Mrs. Hudson." Molly accepted the cup of tea and sank back into the sofa at 221B. When she and John had gotten to her building, the fire had been put out just before they had arrived and they wouldn't let her in. Molly couldn't stand to hang around so John had brought her back to Baker Street, where had immediately started to coo over her once she was filled in.

"It's horrible. Just horrible." Mrs Hudson was mumbling to her self as she cleaned up one of Sherlock's experiments in the kitchen, trying to make the flat more habitable.

Molly felt numb. It was bad. She knew it was. It's not that she particularly liked her flat, she'd just grown attached to it. All of the memories she had created there in the time she moved into the heart of the city. Not to mention that nobody had seen Toby. She shuddered even thinking about her poor cat. _God, I hope he's okay._ She felt the tears start to sting at her eyes again.

"Where the bloody hell have _you_ been?" She heard John's voice come from where he was helping Mrs. Hudson and looked up at the door. Sherlock was home.

He stood, framed in the doorway, his hair and coat covered in some sort of grey substance, his face smeared with black. He pulled back his coat to reveal a squirming ball of fur in his arms. Molly jumped up from the sofa. "Toby!" She wiped her tears from her face as she ran over and scooped her precious cat out of Sherlock's arms, hugging him tight to her chest. "Oh Toby." She crooned as she went back over to the sofa, laying him in her lap, not caring that he was covered in soot.

_Soot._ She looked up at Sherlock. Soot. That's what was smeared over his face. And the grey in his hair and jacket… ash. Realization donned on her and she felt a new wave of tears threatening her. He had saved Toby. Sherlock Holmes had raced across the city as soon as he had heard, just to rescue her cat. She looked down at Toby, running her sleeve under her nose, before meeting Sherlock's eyes. She mouthed 'thank you' to him and he nodded before stalking off to his bedroom.

Molly sat, happily petting Toby for a long while. No matter what happened to the rest of her flat, at least she still had Toby.

John sat next to her, breaking the silence. "I've made up my room for you upstairs. You can stay there for as long as you need."

"Oh no. John I couldn't put you out like that. I'm fine here on the sofa."

"I insist Molly. Believe me, I've slept rougher than on a sofa before. It's no trouble for me at all."

Molly lunged over and wrapped her arms around John. "Thank you so much for all of this."

John chuckled a little, patting her back. "Well we couldn't leave you on the street now could we."

Molly was smiling when she pulled away from him. "I'm never going to be able to thank you enough." She staggered a yawn, hiding it behind her hand. "I think I'm going to go to bed. It's been a long day. I'll see you in the morning John." She kissed him on the cheek before scooping Toby into her arms and standing up.

Before she was able to leave the flat to climb the stairs to John's room, the door of Sherlock's bedroom opened. "Goodnight Molly."

"… Goodnight Sherlock." He nodded once at her before closing his door again. Molly wasn't sure what that meant, but the shocked look on John's face said a lot.

With a small smile on her lips, Molly climbed the stairs, hoping she and Toby would be better by the morning.


	13. Chapter 13

**Hello you lot. I suppose I can give you another chapter. I'm feeling generous today. Anyways, I'll forgo the usual mushy thanks that I start these off with and just say thank you everyone for everything. Hopefully you don't hate what I've done this chapter. Enjoy and don't be afraid to drop me a line. :)**

* * *

"Look! I realize it's not your division! But this is Molly we're talking about!"

"Okay, okay. Calm down Sherlock. I know it's Molly, but I read the case file. Nobody got hurt and they ruled it an accident. Faulty wiring. Why do you care so much about this?" Greg leaned back in his chair, watching Sherlock pace around his office like some sort of caged animal.

"It doesn't matter why. Just get me ten minutes in the building and I'll tell you if it was an accident or not."

"Sherlock, the arson squad's already investigated. What do you think you can do that…" Greg stopped mid sentence, seeing the haughty expression on Sherlock's face. "…right."

"I'm going there now. Just get me access for when I arrive." He spun on his heel and left the office.

Greg sighed and ran his hand over his face before giving up. He picked up the phone and rang his friend on the arson squad.

* * *

Molly woke up crying for the third day in a row. It was all just too much for her. She had called into work the day before to explain what had happened and they gave her some time off to sort out her living arrangements. Now she was faced with doing just that. She and Toby were technically homeless.

_Toby. _

She reached her hand across the bed to the spot where he had curled up next to her. He was gone. She pulled on the knit jumper John had given her to wear and ran downstairs.

Molly couldn't stop herself from smiling at the sight that unfolded before her in the kitchen. Toby was sitting next to Sherlock's microscope and John sat in the chair beside him, eating toast and ripping off small pieces to share with the cat.

"Morning Molly." John smiled up at her and nodded towards the boiled kettle sitting on the counter. "Bloody demanding cat you have."

Molly laughed and went to make herself some tea. "You can't give in to him. You have to have strong resolve."

John just chuckled as he fed Toby another piece of toast. "Anyways, I have a shift at the surgery this evening so it'll just be you and Sherlock tonight. There's money in the drawer for take-away, though I doubt Sherlock will eat anything."

"Oh… okay." Molly hadn't spent any time alone with Sherlock since John had found out Sherlock was kissing her. She didn't know what was going to happen that night. _Maybe I'll be able to ask him about hanging up on me._ "Where is he now?" She looked over to his bedroom door but it was open. If he were in there, it would have been firmly closed.

"No clue. He left early this morning without a word." John checked his watch and jumped out of his chair. "Sorry, I have to dash. I promised Mary I'd do some errands with her so we can spend time together today."

Molly smiled at how cute that was. "It's fine John. I have some flat hunting to do. Have a nice day with Mary." She leaned over and kissed his cheek before taking his place at the table with Toby.

"Just know you're welcome to stay as long as you need Molly. You don't need to rush." He smiled and pulled on his jacket. "See you later. Try and get Sherlock to eat something." With that, he slid out the door, closing it behind himself.

Molly sighed and looked at Toby. "Tonight should be interesting."

* * *

Sherlock sighed and ran his hand over his face as he sat in the cab.

This day had been a bust. He had spent the morning at Molly's building, sifting through the burnt rubble where the fire had started. He had then spent the rest of the day trying to convince the police that it was in fact arson and not an accident. Idiots. It had been obvious once he started to look closer. The fire had only been made to look like an accident. He had finally convinced them to take another look but they only agreed to if he would leave them alone until they had done it, which wasn't going to happen until morning. His hands were tied until then.

The cab pulled up on Baker Street and Sherlock climbed out, paid the man, and climbed the steps to his flat. He pushed open the door and paused when he saw Molly sitting at the table, take-away containers spread over the table. "… Good evening."

Molly turned around with a small jump. "Oh… hi. Are you hungry?"

"No."

"John said you'd say that."

"Where _is_ John?"

"He's working tonight."

"Oh… I was worried you'd eaten him." He turned around to remove his coat but he didn't miss the look on her face. Her mouth had fallen open before she had frowned and knitted her brows together. _Damn_. He moved into the kitchen and went to check on am experiment on one of the counters. Since Molly was here, and people need to use the table Sherlock, the table had to be clear of experiments.

He heard Molly sniff behind him a little. "… that was mean Sherlock."

Turning back towards her, he gestured to the table. "Well that _is_ a large quantity of food."

Molly dropped her head and muttered into her lap. "I couldn't decide what to get."

Sherlock looked at her for a bit and decided it would be best if he just dealt with it now. "I apologize Molly."

"… thank you."

He nodded at her and started moving towards his bedroom, but Molly had other ideas. "...Sherlock?"

Stopping, he turned back to her, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets. "Yes?"

He could tell she was trying to gather the courage to ask him something. "Um… I was just… I was just wondering… why… whydidyouhanguponme?"

"Because I was finished talking to you." He had suspected that was going to rear its head eventually.

Molly stood up, taking her plate to the sink and spoke with her back to him. "But… you didn't answer my question. You just hung up…"

"And what question was that?" He knew full well what question she had asked but there was a reason he had hung up… he didn't know how to answer it.

"You said you weren't taking advantage of me and I asked you what you _were_ doing." She turned around again and leaned back against the counter.

He didn't know how to answer the question because he didn't know what he was doing. He didn't want to talk about feelings. He hated feelings.

_I need to distract her_.

Moving towards her, Sherlock grabbed Molly's waist and pulled her against him before leaning down and pressing his lips against hers. He could feel Molly react to his kiss, melting against him. Her hands went up to his neck and he pressed her hard against the counter. She gasped against his mouth and her hands slid up his neck to knot in his hair.

Sherlock couldn't help but smirk slightly, knowing he was doing a fantastic job at distracting her. Bending down slightly, he reached for her legs and pulled at them until she jumped up, wrapping them around his waist. He carried her away from the counter and pressed her up against the frame of his bedroom door. Molly's hands moved to cup his face and she gently pulled him away from her own and whispered. "Sherlock…"

Shaking his head slightly, he leaned his head down and occupied his mouth with her neck, drawing soft sighs from her as he heard the small thunk of her head falling back against the wall. He felt her hands grip onto the back of his shirt, pulling him closer to herself. _God._ The way she reacted to him was making his head spin.

Pulling way from her neck, he took a moment to breathe, his face inches from hers. They both stared at each other, their eyes searching the other pair for something. Within seconds, their mouths clashed together again ,almost frantic, neither of them being able to put a stop to it. Sherlock removed them from the door frame and carried Molly into his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them.

* * *

**Nope, no real smut for you. Trust me, you don't want to read that from me.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Righto, just a short transition chapter for you all today. Sorry bout that, but fear not, the next chapter is on it's way. Anywho, enjoy and please continuing leaving reviews, they're what make me want to keep writing this. Tata for now. (Apologies for lack of editing)**

* * *

Molly had never seen Sherlock sleeping before. She had believed it was something she was never going to see and had she been wrong.

She lay there, mesmerized by this rare sight. His face was slack, his mouth slightly open. Peaceful. That was the best word to describe it. He didn't look cold and calculating. He didn't look as if he were trapped inside his head. He looked… _warm_.

Molly carefully pulled his covers back and slid her feet onto the floor. She pulled John's jumper on and collected the rest of her clothes in her arms. It had been a mistake. She knew that Sherlock would realize that as soon as he woke up and he would go back to his usual question dodging self. She sighed softly. It had been a glorious mistake. She took once last look at his sleeping face before sliding out of his bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Praying that John was still sleeping, she snuck into the living room to find him and Toby curled up on the sofa. Smiling a little, she tiptoed through the flat before running up the stairs to John's room and slipping into bed. John would be none the wiser and Sherlock would hardly care that she had left. She pulled her covers up over her head and tried to fall back to sleep.

* * *

Sherlock opened his eyes a little as the light came in through his bedroom curtains. He closed his them for a little while longer before deciding to wake up. With a yawn, he rolled over and stretched. His hand hit the empty side of the bed and he turned his head to look. Molly was gone. Sherlock sat up and ran his hands through his messy hair. He had thought Molly would have stayed and that he'd wake up with her cuddled against him.

Sliding out of bed, Sherlock pulled his sheet around himself and padded out into the kitchen. John was sitting at the table reading the paper and looked up when he heard Sherlock. "Morning."

"Mmm." He turned his back to his flatmate and went about making himself a cup of tea. "Where's Molly?" He'd thought she'd be out here with John.

"Dunno. She left kind of early today. Still flat hunting I suppose." He took a bite of toast. "What were you up to yesterday?"

Sherlock turned around again and sipped at his tea. "I have a case."

"Oh? What's it this time?"

"I'm looking into the fire at Molly's building."

"…really?" Sherlock could see the surprise on John's face.

"Yes… Lestrade asked me to since, I believe his words were… 'it's a matter close to our hearts' or something horribly sentimental like that."

"Oh… yeah that makes sense. So what have you found?" John was so easy to fool sometimes.

Sherlock sat down at the table across from John. "It wasn't faulty wires. It was set up to look like an accident."

"Seriously? What are doing here then? Shouldn't you be out investigating instead of sleeping in?"

Sherlock glared at John a little bit, the frustrations of the day before coming out again. "I only got ten minutes on the scene before I was kicked out. When I finally convinced them to look again, they said I wouldn't be allowed back on until they had done so. I'm waiting for the phone call that tells me they have finally come to the same conclusion. "

"Oh… right sorry."

Sherlock heard his phone buzzing in his bedroom and jumped up from the table.

"Hello?" A smile crept onto his face as he listened to Lestrade speak. "Brilliant!… oh shut up. We'll be there as soon as we can." He tossed the phone on his bed and poked his head out of his door. "John, get dressed. We have a murder."

* * *

_His long fingers slowly slid up her side, sending shivers through her spine. Their bodies were knit together, moving as one. She tangled her hand into his hair, pulling softly and being rewarded with glorious sounds._

Molly quickly jerked back into reality, looking around her.

_Oh god, now I'm daydreaming about it._

Her stop was next, so she gathered her belongings and jumped up, exiting the train once the doors opened.

It had been a long day with nothing much to show for it. She still hadn't found anywhere decent to live and she was starting to worry that she was going to have to settle for something less than what her old flat was. So it wasn't surprising that she had started to doze off on her train ride back to Baker Street.

Climbing up the stairs, she pushed open the door and glanced around. Empty. Letting out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, Molly set the shopping on the kitchen table and pulled off her coat. She wasn't sure how to feel about nobody being around. On one side, she didn't have to face Sherlock just yet, but on the other… she was alone.

Grabbing a blanket off of John's chair, she sat down on the sofa next to a curled up Toby, and settled in.


	15. Chapter 15

**_Right, so I know this is a bit short, but it's got some action and a slight cliffhanger. Hope you enjoy it. Lucky you guys, getting two chapters in such short time span. :) I must really love you._**

* * *

_Her fingers tugged at his hair, sending his brain into a downward spiral. He slowly slid his fingers along the curves of her side, her warm skin tingling underneath his touch. He let the skin of her neck swallow up the sounds that emerged from his throat, prompted by the heat of her body against his own and her careful fingers pulling unceremoniously at his curls._

"Who is he?"

"Don't know. Not enough left of him to identify until we can get what is left to the lab."

Sherlock crouched down next to the charred remains, desperate to distract himself from his own thoughts. "Male. Late twenties. Blunt force trauma to the head. May be cause of death. To be determined." He leaned closer, pulling out his tweezers. "Medical screws. Shoulder remodel." He looked up at John. "Not dissimilar to the type of surgery used for a gunshot wound."

"What are you suggesting?" John eyed Sherlock carefully.

"Military."

"Yeah… that's what I thought you were."

Standing up, Sherlock bagged the screw and handed it over to Lestrade before dusting himself off. "Detective Inspector." He nodded at him as a goodbye and made for the door.

"Wait! That's it? Where are you going?"

"I have a call to make." He pulled out his phone, only holding the door enough so that John could slip through.

"Who are you calling?"

Giving him a sideways glance, Sherlock held the phone to his ear. "Hello dear brother. When were you planning on telling me that you have people watching anybody who so much as breathes on me?"

* * *

"So… okay explain it again." John was slumped into the corner of the cab, looking over at his flatmate.

"Mycroft had people keeping an eye on Molly. For obvious reasons. Now one of them has turned up dead after a fire in her building. Somebody killed him and torched the place to cover up the body, leaving Molly unwatched for the time being."

"Shit."

"My thoughts precisely. Do you think you could drive any faster?!" Sherlock sat back in his seat and looked down at his phone again. "Damn, Mrs. Hudson isn't picking up. She must not be home. And Molly has her phone on silent for some idiotic reason."

He could see the strain in his friend's body. Leaning forward, he called through the partition. "There's another twenty in it for you if you can drive at least the bloody speed limit!"

* * *

"Molly! Molly!"

Molly looked up from her position on the couch to see both Sherlock and John burst into the flat.

"What the hell's going on?"

"Oh thank god." John panted as he sat down next to her, ignoring a disgruntled Toby. Sherlock remained at the door, looking calculatingly around the flat.

"What's going on?" She repeated, looking between the two of them.

"We um… we think somebody may be trying to kill you…" John looked over at Sherlock who still hadn't moved.

"What?!"

Sherlock's eyes landed on Toby, who had jumped off the couch when John arrived and was now attempting to climb the bookshelf. Noting this, Molly stood up. "Sorry, I know you don't like him up there." She dropped the blanket and made to go and retrieve him.

"Molly no!"

The next thing she knew, a body collided hard with hers which then collided hard with the ground. Glass broke all around them, falling to the ground in little pieces. The large body that was draped over top of her saved her from most of it, only a few pieces nicking her cheek. Looking past the dark curls, she could make out John, crouched low near the window, gun drawn.


	16. Chapter 16

**Hello lovelies. Welcome to the latest update. So this chapter was really hard for me to write. I knew where to start and I knew where I wanted to end, but the middle part was a struggle and a half. I hope you like it and that it's not too boring. Enjoy and thank you all for reading.**

* * *

Slowly, the weight on top of her began to move and she stared blankly at its face.

"… okay? Molly? Molly are you okay?" Her senses came back to her in a rush of sound and light. "Molly!" Sherlock was sitting on top of her, yelling.

"Sherlock?"

"Sherlock, move her over to the side!" John called from his position at the window, phone pressed to his ear.

Having enough sense, Molly rolled onto her knees and began crawling away from the window, cutting herself on the broken glass as she went. Sitting back against the bookshelf, she let her head loll back.

"Are you okay Molly?" It was Sherlock's voice again, but he was no longer yelling. She nodded slowly.

Her mouth was dry but she managed to swallow. "Yeah… are you? Is John? … Toby?"

"Toby's fine, he ran into my room when I called out. John's fine."

She closed her eyes, nodding again. It was a long moment before she realized he had neglected someone. "And you?"

Opening her eyes again, she looked over at him sitting beside her. His suit was covered in dust, small pieces of glass and blood, some of which she suspected was hers. However, the dark pooling near his shoulder was definitely not hers. "You've been shot!"

"I'm fine. It just grazed me."

"You're fi… Sherlock you've been shot!" She shook her head. Pulling off her jumper, she rolled it into a ball and pressed it against his shoulder, to which Sherlock winced violently.

"I said I'm fine. I've had much worse before."

"John call an ambulance."

"Already ahead of you Molly." John was sitting under the window, gun still drawn and phone still pressed to his ear. He turned away from her as he began talking into the phone again. "I don't give a shit! Just get it fucking done!"

Molly turned back to Sherlock. His head was leaning back against the bookshelf, his eyes closed. "Sherlock? Sherlock!"

* * *

"I'm not dead Molly." He slowly opened his eyes, rolling his head to look at her. He could see the fear in her eyes and immediately felt something akin to empathy. She was Molly. She didn't deal with this sort of thing. She was the one to handle things after the excitement. She led a quite life.

Sherlock knew it was his fault she was even involved in whatever this was about. He put her in danger just like he put everyone in his life in danger.

The next few minutes were a blur of movement. Mycroft's people showed up and took over control. He and Molly were whisked into a black car through the back of the building, while John was left to help clean up.

Molly kept the pressure on his shoulder, despite his protests that he was fine. She was still in shock. He could tell she was trying to focus on something else, and that something happened to be taking care of him.

The black car pulled up to the curb and the driver opened the door. They climbed a set of narrow stairs at the back of a worn building, reaching the top floor and pushing through a door. They stood in the doorway of a tiny flat. _Tiny_. The kitchenette was a single counter that held a mini fridge, microwave and a small portable burner. There was a toilet hiding in a room placed in one of the corners, so small that you could barely turn around in there. Set against one wall, taking up most of the space, was a single bed. Sherlock glared at the driver who just shrugged and left, closing the door behind him.

Molly turned to him and pulled him towards the toilet. "Take off your jacket." He did as he was told, flinching when it came to his shot arm. After his jacket came his shirt. Molly had her doctor face on, focusing solely on his shoulder. Finding bandages and towels under the sink, she set to cleaning him up.

"See? Not so bad." She just shook her head, tying off the bandage.

"You were still shot."

"Better me than you."

"… thank you." Molly was looking at her feet and Sherlock furrowed his brow.

"You don't need to thank me. I wasn't about to just let you get shot and likely killed."

He raised his arms a little when Molly essentially attacked him, wrapping her arms tight around his middle. Awkwardly, he placed his own arms around her.

After a little while she pulled away and looked around the room. It was like he could read her thoughts. He was thinking the exact same thing.

He went over to the bed and pulled off the big blanket. "I'll sleep on the floor."

"No! You don't have to do that! You're the injured one. You take the bed."

"Molly… I won't even _fit_ on that bed. Take the bed." He threw the blanket on the floor and curled up on top of it. Feeling Molly's eyes on his back, he turned back to look at her. "Go to sleep."

* * *

Molly tossed and turned, the bed creaking each time she moved. Her mind just couldn't wrap itself around the events of the day. Flopping onto her back, she smacked her arms onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling.

What was going on?

Her body ached and stung from all of the small scratches she had. Sitting up, she looked over at the heap on the floor that was Sherlock. She climbed off the bed, taking her blanket and pillow with her, and joined him on the floor.

Sherlock stirred, looking over at her. "Molly? What are you doing?"

"Shh, go back to sleep." She pulled his arm around her and quickly fell asleep.


End file.
